The Lost Daughter: 03 The Lost Childhood
by natsora
Summary: She was an orphan without a name. She was a product of the streets. She was a survivor. With biotics and her wits, she kept herself one step ahead of death and starvation. But a biotic was too precious a commodity to roam free. Forced to join the Reds, her life took a turn. She hadn't decide if it was for the better. Shepard wasn't always Shepard. This is the story of how Shepard
1. Dark Stormy Night

Chapter 1 - Dark Stormy Night

It was storming. Rain was pelting down in sheets. Anyone foolish enough to venture outside would be completely drenched. It was merely water, but it painted the world grey and dark. Thunder screeched after a flash of lightning chased the shadows away. For a split second, the city was laid bare. Peeling paint on buildings and overflowing industrial sized trash bins were a common sight.

The darkness crawled back as soon as light retreated. It always did, there was no escape.

It wasn't merely the gloom of the hidden sun. This was a shell of a metropolis, a far cry from a proper one where sky-cars were the norm, where neon lights beat back the impending nightfall, where voices and noises signalled life underneath the hard shell of concrete and steel.

Here, a sole street light flickered valiantly against the leaning shadows. This used to be the heart of a bustling city-state, but it had gone the way cities always did when resources and funding got low, when politicians cared more about their pockets than the people who elected them.

A car rolled to a stop along an empty street. It was old, a petrol fuelled vehicle, albeit a well-maintained one. She sat in the car. It was mostly quiet. There was gasping rasp of her car's engine and her own breath. Wipers squeaked as they swished left and right trying to keep up with the deluge of water. The non-stop rattle of water slamming against the car was near constant. It was enough to drown out all thought.

She watched. The city was quiet and somber. The equatorial sun hadn't set, but it hid behind the dark rippling clouds as if ashamed about what was going to happen. The buildings leaned against each other. They looked tired, standing on their foundations seemed beyond their ability. Urban rot was a disease running across the pock-marked asphalt.

Her eyes darted left and right, checking and double checking. She clutched at her white lab coat, pulling it closer around her shoulders. A shudder ran down her spine as she started second guessing herself. A contented sigh came from the bundle on the passenger seat. She glanced at the infant, all swaddled in white. The baby gurgled as their eyes opened. Her breath hitched as pure innocent eyes of brilliant chartreuse captured her own. She took a deep breath, a gentle hand caressed the unblemished skin of the baby. Young, the baby was too young, barely eight months old.

"I can't consign you to that life. It's no life. You're better off here," she whispered. "I hope you'll understand one day."

She pulled the swaddle loose and gently extracted the baby's chubby left hand from within the layers of fabric. There was a medical tag still attached to the arm. She looked at the tag, a logo of black, white and yellow was printed next to a series of numbers. These were numbers in place of name given lovingly by parents. She expelled a breath from her lungs in a bid to ease the tightness. It didn't worked. She got to work. Fishing around in her pocket, she pulled a box cutter free. It clicked loudly as the sharp blade extended. She looked at the squirming baby again. It was the right thing to do. The blade gleamed as lightning ran across the sky. She gritted her teeth and slashed downwards as thunder rumbled overhead.

The baby giggled as she pulled the tag free. Staring at the baby, she tried to rewrapped the baby again. But she was no experienced mother. She was a scientist, her hands meant for lab equipment and datapads, not laughing, cackling babies. After a few tries, she gave up. If things went the way she planned, the baby would be in better hands than hers soon.

She rooted around her car and found an umbrella. Worriedly, she glanced out of the window again. The streets were still clear, the rain had made sure of that. It was now or never. The baby laughed again, she couldn't help smiling. The green eyes so at odds with the downy soft black hair. She brushed against the baby's nose. The excited shrieks from the baby made her laugh out loud.

"All right, time to do this," she muttered to herself.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at the building across the road one more time. Her hand tightened on the umbrella. She didn't give herself time to second guess herself. With a quick pull of the door handle, it swung opened. The roar of the rain came flooding into the car. Lightning streaked and thunder roared, startling the baby. The baby whimpered. It was the beginnings of a full on bawl. She pushed a button and the umbrella unfurled itself. Reaching back into the car, she cradled the baby against her chest, humming to calm the infant.

Her steps quick as she jogged across the empty street, the baby was more curious by the experience than afraid. She stepped towards the door careful to angle the umbrella to block the security camera from getting a good shot of her face. The baby started babbling, their hands made little gasping motions at her hair. She moved her head away, well aware the strength of the baby's grip.

"I'm not your mother but leaving you there is beyond even me. After tonight, I must flee for my life. Taking you with me is a death sentence for both of us. I know you deserve better, but this is the best I can do for you. I can't keep you with me," she spoke.

The baby stared at her, legs kicking within the swaddle and hands waving in the air. She bent down and pressed her lips against the baby's forehead. The squirming calmed a little as the baby started cooing. Slowly and tenderly, she lowered the baby to the ground. As soon as the cold ground pressed against the baby's back, they started wailing. It was loud, insistent and demanding.

She gritted her teeth and turned her back on the baby resolutely. Step by step, the further she walked the harder it was to breathe as tears clouded her vision. This was the right choice. There was no other way to keep the baby safe. She had no choice.

By the time she got to her car, she was sobbing. Her hand pressed against her mouth to hold it together. The baby's cries were louder than the rain hitting the asphalt, more powerful than the rolling thunder. She pulled the door opened and got into the car. As soon as she slammed the door shut, her resolve crumbled.

"Why? I barely had the baby for long. Just a couple of months max. This isn't my child. I should be able to do this," she hissed angrily at herself.

She permitted herself one look. One look back at the small white bundle at the door of a state orphanage. Her jaw tightened as she wrenched her eyes away. Keys jingled as she twisted it. The engine spluttered to life. She dashed the tears angrily away with the back of her hand as she floored the accelerator.

The baby cried long and hard as the car sped away.


	2. Name

Chapter 2 - Name

A/N: I'm running a giveaway on my Tumblr (Natsora). If you want to take part, check it out here. post/182009309733/natsora-hello-friends-this-is-my-300-followers

* * *

She trudged through the street, arms wrapped around her scrawny body. Her stomach growled angrily. The street was long and wide. Gang members perched at street corners like hawks waiting for prey. Older kids with roughly fashioned clubs or blunted blades, sporting colours of their gang affiliations, eyed her like meat. Kids younger than her with eyes made hollow by hunger and malnourishment looked at her hopefully. Their thin arms held out hopefully. She gritted her teeth and straightened.

 _I'm better than them._

It was a strange sort of pride to survive on her own. Nobody took in kids like her. Too young for useful work, needing too much food, needing too much resources. She couldn't guess at her own age. Time was meaningless on the streets anyway. If she were to guess, she figured she was no older than nine or ten.

There was a fuzzy, vague memory of people singing a birthday song. Kids and adults clapping and singing in chorus. She shook her head, and the image faded.

The younger kids she didn't have much pity for. She was after all one of their number. And she had to look out for herself. It was the older kids, those that ran in packs she was wary of.

"I am no prey," she muttered, crossing the street to give the nearest bunch a wide berth.

Her stomach complained again reminding her why she was heading towards the city centre.

The city, a bright and shiny metropolis that had been dying by inches from neglect and lack of governance for years. Midtown and Central thrived at the expense of the Slums. It was a line that cleaved the city into halves, the haves and the have nots.

Midtown was where regular people worked and lived. And that would be where she could get away with a little borrowing. They were better off than the folks in the Slums, a little less wary, a little less vigilant. It made them easier to steal from. Well, it would work as long as none of the older kids decided she didn't need whatever she got.

Her gait made uneven by shoes too large for her feet. Laces cinched up tight around her ankles were the only reason they stayed on. Sleeves pushed over her shoulders, all rolled up but they still slid past her elbows. Her shirt reached mid-thigh, while what was supposed to be shorts went past her knees. Sweat dotted her back as she walked on. Her clothes were covered with a layer of dirt and grime that the original colour was merely a fading memory. Heedless of it, she wiped her hands on her stained shorts.

Her black hair was too messy to have seen a scissor in years. It was uneven and roughly cut as if done with a blunt knife. Her eyes scanned the streets warily. The hair on the back of her neck tingled and the space between her shoulder blades itched. She rolled her shoulders and forced herself to keep moving. Running would only invite chase. She knew it well.

Her scuffed knees and scrapped knuckles had met the rough asphalt and sharp barb wires many times, just to keep ahead of the older kids. They laughed as they chased but she was smart. Her size was her asset, and she used it. She was growing taller though not filling out her clothes any better. Sooner or later her advantage would disappear.

 _I'll just be faster and smarter._

She huffed. It was a problem for another time. Now she was hungry, and she needed to go shopping for credits. Her legs took her passed the sad little shops of the Slums. They were merely tables with stolen wares laid out, tended by people that glared balefully at anyone walking by. Those places attracted no interest and even fewer customers. It was meaningless to try. Acid churned and gnawed at her from the inside out. Pressing a hand against her stomach, she walked on.

The walls plastered with posters peeling with age. Her eyes followed the familiar trail of what was once colourful images. She ran her hand over them, tracing a giant golden arch on one, mouth watering at the well-worn picture of a burger next. Her mouth watered despite the grime-covered photo, her hand wiping across its length longingly.

"One day," she promised herself as her stomach growled in sympathy.

Her hand lingered over the burger as she read the alphabets next to it. Most of it were long gone but she could make out the B-U-R-G-E-R. She knew her letters, but reading was something beyond her. She sighed, running her hand along the wall towards her all-time favourite poster.

A woman, unsmiling, sweat dripping from her brow and a snarl on her face. She imagined that she would be like the woman when she was all grown up. _I'll be strong,_ Pulling her lips back in a snarl like the poster, she flexed her arms. She growled and laughed, feeling inordinately pleased with herself. Her hand ran past the lady's face towards the giant check mark next to her. Then, there were four alphabets. She frowned as she read the letters out loud.

"N-I-K-E."

She made a sound of frustration when she could not work out how to read it. Sometimes she wished she could go to school and learnt words. She had seen Midtown kids all smiles and happiness, dressed in clean white uniforms as they entered gates of buildings with their peers. But food and water overrode everything, learning was the least of her worries. Almost reluctantly she lifted her hand from the wall and ran her hand down the front of her shirt, heedless of the trail of black her hand left. This was all part of her ritual when she headed to Midtown. Once done, she yanked her attention back to the street.

This was still the Slums. She had to be careful. Snatchers were everywhere. Rumours of kids disappearing, never seen again, were rife on the streets. She had made the trip to Midtown often enough to notice. A familiar face missing, a younger sibling crying in the streets. It always put a chill up her spine. She knew she was vulnerable. The lone kid, part of no gang, relying on nobody but herself for protection. She didn't have someone watching her back. She was a loner. She spent those days being more watchful than usual, staying up just to guard against phantom hands that never came until weariness took her. Quick and slippery was how she stayed ahead, and she made it work. She survived with nimble fingers and even swifter feet.

Her stomach rumbled, like she had swallowed a mini thunderstorm. She patted her belly, slightly bulging despite having not enough to eat. "Soon," she promised.

Eventually she entered Midtown. There was no clear border between the Slums and Midtown, but the change was noticeable. Gangs of older kids and young adults faded and there were more working class folks decked out in the latest asari-styled smart casual out strolling. The structures lacked the drearily and drab exterior of the Slums. And things might be old but they maintained and repaired. Shops opened and tended to by people who didn't glared at everyone.

Here, she walked hunched over, making herself smaller and younger. Gone was the confidence, the almost swagger she had earlier. She had to make herself unobtrusive if not invisible. But her feet were unerring, they took her towards the Markets.

Overhead, a tram rumbled. She craned her head and watched it chugged onwards on its tracks. Her eyes stared at the picture plastered across the seven carriages. A man with a wide smile hugging a woman who beamed happily. A young child holding on to the man's and the woman's hand, grinning. It was a smile so wide, she couldn't imagine having the same expression on her face. Time made the pretty and clean faces all slightly grey. Still, she enjoyed looking at them and imagining herself being that happy. The advertisement had a string of words running across the carriages. It was hard to make out. She couldn't read the words but she could sound out the alphabets.

"S-U-N. Sun, yes I know that," she muttered under her breath.

She trotted a little to keep pace. Her eyes glued onto the string of letters. "C-O-R-P," she spelt as she tried to read the letters before the tram disappeared. "I-N-S-U-R-A-N-C-E."

She tried to sound out the words in her head, but it all sounded awkward and strange. Her brow furrowed in frustration. Her eyes lingered over the smiling faces of the three people until it was completely out of sight. She sighed and trotted towards the Markets. It was still early and already it was packed with people. Parents with arms filled with squirming, squealing babies. Teens with arms laden with bags trudging behind a grandparent. Delivery people with carts and trolleys piled high with boxes, shouting at the throng to clear the way. Vendors waving their hands at everyone passing by to look at their wares. She shuffled along and joined the flow of human traffic.

 _It must be a weekend._

She pressed herself against a small niche between two stalls. The fragrance of the ripe fruits, from the stall on her left, baking in the sun made her stomach howled while the freshly baked bread cooling on trays just next to her from the stall on her right made her mouth watered.

 _This is just torture._

Licking her lips and resigning herself to more hunger pangs, she sank onto her haunches and waited. Her eyes watchful and her body still. She couldn't help marvelling at the amount of food these people were buying. "Who could eat so much?" she whispered.

Nobody answered.

Eventually she settled on her mark. It was a man, older and heavyset. What's important was his arms were busy with his purchases. The prize was the credit chit he had. Her eyes traced his hand earlier. It was in his back pocket. A smirk tugged at her lips. She was still small enough that made weaving between the press of flesh easy. A quick step to slide between two bodies, an agile duck under arms and she was right behind him.

 _In and out, then I eat._

She bumped into the man, pretending to trip. It was quick. It was something she had done so many times before. A deft flick of her fingers and a twitch of her arm, she had the credit chit out of his pocket and in her hand. The man spun around and glared at her.

"Hey, watch it," he shouted.

She held one hand up placatingly. "Sorry, sir."

The man growled, but his stuff filled his arms. Unwilling to leave without some kind of retaliation, he kicked out. She saw it coming and tried to back away. The Markets was too crowded. She had no room to duck. She twisted and his foot connected against her side. She fell heavily, her hand still keeping a tight grip on the credit chit.

"Get your ass back to the Slums, your kind isn't welcome here," the man spat.

A glob of spit landed on her face. Anger flared like a volcano with nowhere to go but inwards. She bit down on her lip to keep from giving the game away. She got to her feet quickly, not wiling to endure another kick. Sticking her tongue out, she flipped the man the bird as she scrambled off, her prize in hand.

"There better be some decent credit in that chit."

* * *

As she headed back towards the Slums she muttered under her breath. "If only Dog was here, I would have gone to the station." With the dog around, she would have tried her luck with tourists.

Just beyond Midtown was the Transit Hub, it was the heart of Central. Three tall towers dominated the skyline, holding up the shuttle station between them. Their gleaming glass surfaces stood stark against the blue sky. The Transit Hub was a conflux of skycars, trams and shuttles. Half of the northern hemisphere's international travel arrived or departed from this location.

But to the girl who stared with wide-eyed wonder, eyes squinting as the glass surfaces reflected the sun into her eyes, that wasn't the point. The key selling point was the tourists. Aliens of all shapes and sizes had to pass this place. She found a spot on the sprawling low steps that led up to one tower and sat down. The dog rested his chin between his paws and leaned against her, one ear perked up, the other floppy and down

Her stomach was growling. Normally on a day like this, she would have gotten at least a customer or two by now. But it seemed the visitors today were wise to the ways of the kids here. She sighed, eyeing the sky carefully. The dark clouds were already rolling in. It was time to decide if she was better of packing it in.

A telltale, decidedly foreign voice rang out.

She lifted her head and saw a blue alien stepping out of the Transit Hub. The alien had dusky blue skin, freckles that littered her face like stardust, her lips a violet purple, where one expected hair were crests like waves upon her head.

A grin split her mouth. _Finally._ She waved her arms wildly, trying to catch the alien's attention.

The alien perked up and approached. She spoke. Her language was like water, one syllable flowing into the next and the next. Sometimes her voice shifted in pitch like a question, tinkling like water from a little stream. Other times it was like the rushing of a waterfall. The girl sat and smiled as she always did. These aliens always had these funny languages but she couldn't understand at all. But that had never stopped her from earning a little credits.

Dog sat up and sniffed the alien. The alien's face lit up. This was when she knew to strike.

"Picture?"

The alien cocked her head. Her lips flapped and more words came through. The girl maintained her smile and repeated. "Picture?"

There was the familiar frown when the alien realised she didn't understand a single word she spoke. A nod. That was what she was waiting for. She sprung into action. Dog knew his job. He pressed his body against the alien. The alien dumped her bags and all unceremoniously onto the ground before wrapping her arms around Dog.

She stretched her hand out for the alien's omni-tool. The alien faltered when they both realised she wasn't using a cuff model. It was the new implant model. The girl's face fell and sighed. But the alien placed a hand on her shoulder before she went rummaging into her bags. It took a while but the alien eventually got an orange glowing pad out.

She accepted it from the alien and lifted it up to view them through it. The device was easy enough to use. A press of a thumb against the orange screen and it hummed. More than a little alarmed she handed it back to the alien. The alien smiled. She couldn't help a smile of her own. The alien beckoned her to take her place. She obliged and grinned as she pressed her face against Dog's. Dog's folded ear tickling her cheek.

"Me, Liara. You?"

The girl blinked. That was in English. _Name._ That was a loaded question. She shook her head.

The alien straightened and stowed the device away. There was an orange glowing object in her hand. She recognised it as a holo but she hadn't seen one in person before. The alien handed it to her. "For you."

The alien's kind blue eyes looked like an ocean she could fall into. She shook herself and took the holo. It was a picture of herself and Dog, toothy grin and all. For a moment, she felt guilty for what she was about to do. Her stomach growled again, reminding her she had had nothing for a few days.

Tucking the holo into her pocket. she lifted her hand towards the alien. "1000 credits please."

The alien blinked. Shock and surprise crept in over her speckled face slowly but when it hit, it creased her brow and twisted her mouth.

She was used to this. Her sale pitch ready, she said, "For you, discount. 500 credits."

The alien sighed. But made no move to hand over any credit chit.

"Service, photo with Dog. 1000 credits. You special, you get discount," she said, lifting the little cardboard she had with her and pointed. "See. 1000 credits."

The alien looked at the ground for a moment, lost in thought. Eventually she withdrew a credit chit from her pocket. She checked the balance via her omni-tool before handing it over. Dog barked on cue.

"Thank you!" she shouted as rain splattered down onto the ground in huge globs.

She spared the strange alien named Liara a glance as she ran for shelter, Dog hot on her heels. The pretty alien struggled with her bags as she ran back inside the Transit Hub.

The girl ate well on the alien's credits even though her guilty conscious pricked at her whenever she looked at the holo.

 _Better full and guilty than hungry and not._

* * *

The memory of that day didn't keep her distracted for long. It was near noon and the Slums was waking up. Adults with scowls and sneers replaced the gangs of kids. This was nothing unusual for the Slums. But with credit chit in her pocket, she walked slightly faster than usual.

Eyes bloodshot and hungry followed her as she made her way towards one stall. A shudder crawled up her spine. She glanced back and snarled. A man with oily greying hair, combed in a vain attempt to cover a bald spot, grinned. He was reclining on a chair outside an abandoned shop. It was clear this was his usual spot. He had a table next to him, cluttered with his instruments.

"Little girly, do you want some?" he asked. "I can share."

She stared out of morbid curiosity. He had a dirty syringe filled with a red liquid in his hand as he flicked his finger against it twice. His eyes met hers. Leaning forward in his chair, he beckoned at her with his fingers. "I see you're a curious little kitty," he said, waving the syringe around. "Such a wee thing, just a little jab, this can send you to heaven. And it's so happy up there."

Snake fast, his hand shot out and clamped down around her wrist. She yelped, more out of shock than pain. "Let go!" she growled, tugging to free her hand.

"Come on," he said, "it will be my treat. I can be generous. Just keep still."

Despite how frail and thin he looked, his grip was strong. She flailed and pulled, he tightened his hand in response. He drew back his arm, the needle glinted in the sun.

Panic seized her, and she Pushed.

She stiffened, muscles all clenching up. Her temples ached as her brain felt like it caught on fire. An energy lit up from within her, running through her limbs, squeezing her chest painfully tight. A force stronger than what she could ever manage erupted from her hands.

This wasn't the first time. But she never could control it. It only triggered when she panicked. And right now, she was afraid.

Pressure mounted behind her eyes. Her vision went white as she careened backwards and landed on her butt. The man and his chair tipped end over end.. He shouted as the chair fell on him.

"You have done it now, girly!" he yelled as he shoved the chair aside. "Here I was trying to send you to heaven."

She scrambled backwards on her hands and butt before getting on her feet. Her eyes watered as her vision blurred. "Get away from me!" she screamed.

As the man made a grab for her again, she half staggered half trotted out of the way. This time she made sure they were more than an arm's length apart. "Leave me alone!" she snarled as she backed away as quickly as her wobbly legs managed.

The man glared at her with all the power of his red-rimmed eyes, but he didn't follow.

She stumbled on. The alley was cool, the shadow of the building providing meagre shade. Panting, she pressed her back against the wall. Something warm dripped from her face onto her shirt. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. A strangled whimper escaped her lips when she realised it was blood. Hastily she clamped her lips shut, pressing them into a thin line. She pressed the heel of her palm against her eye in an attempt to push the pulsing ache behind her eyes away. Her teeth bit down on her lip, hard enough she tasted blood.

"Girl," a voice said.

She jerked her head up, raising her fists, ready for a fight.

"Easy, easy," the voice said.

It was a lady, dark-skinned, her hair all done up in long dreads, looking at her. The lady's eyes were red rimmed but from exhaustion rather than Red Sand. "Girl," she called again, a cigarette clamped between her fingers. "Are you ok?"

She looked up and stared into the lady's dark eyes. Sliding along the wall, she shifted away from the lady, feeling cornered and assaulted on all directions.

"Hey kid," the lady called, her voice softer and lower this time, "What's your name?"

She couched down, bringing herself down to the girl's level. "My name is Meg," she introduced. "See I work over there."

Meg pointed, with her hand by encumbered with the cigarette, towards a building with a giant billboard. It wasn't far from where they stood. Her cigarette left a trail of smoke in the air stinging her eyes as she followed Meg's hand. It was a low building just three stories tall nestled among taller structure. It had letters on the facade. She frowned, her inability to read frustrating her once more.

She flinched when she felt a pressure on her shoulder. "Hey, hey," Meg said. "Easy."

Meg held her hands up. "Look, you're bleeding kid," she said pointing at the smear of blood. "Just come and get yourself cleaned up."

The older lady turned and headed deeper into the alley before disappearing into a door. She trudged warily after Meg. The door wasn't one of those new ones she had seen in parts of Midtown, with the green and red holo-locks. This one was an old-styled door, complete with an actual door knob. It had cracks running the length of the door, and it was more black than its original white. The door was dented in multiple spots as if from a boot was taken to it. And it was ajar. She hovered outside unwilling to enter. Her hand tightened on the credit chit she stole.

Meg popped her head out. "Come in," she said.

She shook her head. Meg sighed and disappeared into her home again. She waited and wondered if she should just go. Her stomach had stopped growling, but it was gnawing at her insides angrily. She pressed her hand against her upper abdomen and set her jaw. Then there was shuffling inside, she stiffened and backed away. Meg appeared with a pair of stools and a small pail of water. Wordlessly, she put both stools on the ground and sat down on one. The pail was on the ground next to her. Meg took a deep inhale of her rapidly shortening cigarette and gestured towards the empty stool. "Girl, do you want my help or not?" she asked impatiently.

She scooted over to the stool and sat down. Her shoulders tense, her feet bounced as her eyes followed Meg's every move. Meg didn't comment and stubbed the cigarette out on the ground. She rinsed a washcloth out from the pail. The washcloth felt cool against her face. She closed her eyes as Meg ran the cloth over her face. Rough hands cupped her cheek as Meg rubbed against some stubborn spot of dirt. Meg worked wordlessly. The lingering scent of cheap cigarettes wasn't unpleasant. Bit by bit she relaxed, enjoying the physical contact.

"There," Meg said, and the spell was broken.

She opened her eyes and stared into Meg's. A lump formed in her throat and she clenched her jaw, refusing to give in to the strange emotion. A memory tickled at the back of her mind, this all felt familiar but she couldn't quite remember. She blinked rapidly as her eyes grew hot.

"Now, will you tell me your name, girl?" Meg asked.

She racked her brain. _A name?_ Did she have a name? Did everyone have a name? She couldn't remember.

"Can you speak?" Meg asked cocking her head as she rested her arms on her knees. "I heard you just fine when you're fighting with Miller just now."

"N-I-K-E," she said.

"Is that your name?" Meg asked.

She nodded and bit her lip, afraid Meg would ask her to say it. She didn't know how to sound the word out.

"Nike huh?" Meg said, "That's a pretty name. And you're a pretty girl under all that dirt."

 _Nike._

She turned the name over and over in her head. She liked the way it sounded in her head. "Yeah," she said, the words got caught in her throat. "That's my name. Nike."

Meg smiled. "You're an odd one, Nike. The colour of your eyes… Is it green or yellow?" she asked as she bent to get a better look.

Nike baulked and scrambled out of her stool. Meg sighed and shook her head. "You're a flighty one aren't you?"

Meg put on a grin that made Nike's teeth itched. She was on high alert again. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the older lady. "Now I see you have something there in your hand. Is there something you want to buy with that? Maybe we can do a little trade, huh? Maybe I'll give you a discount?"

* * *

Nike's face fall when Meg scanned the credit chit over her omni-tool. She didn't know many words, but she understood numbers just fine. The flashing ten on the display told her everything she needed to know.

"Ten?" she asked, looking at Meg, crestfallen.

"I can scan it again but I'm afraid that number will not change," Meg offered.

A tap, a beep and again that number ten. Nike sank down onto the stool, shoulders slumped. Her ribs twinged and her stomach roared its displeasure. Meg got up and went inside, leaving her alone.

 _Maybe I should just go home._

She sighed and stood up, ready to leave when Meg returned. "Hey," she called out.

Nike turned back.

"I'll trade that ten credits for this bag," she said tossing the bag over to her.

Nike caught it easily. She undid the knot and looked inside. A smile plastered on her face and grinned. "Thanks!" she said as she handed Meg the credit chit.

Without so much as a goodbye Nike was off again. She didn't want to linger now that her business was done. She couldn't be sure Meg wasn't a Snatcher after all.

Nike hummed happily. The bag was a substantial weight in her hand. She opened the bag again and sniffed. It filled her nose the wonderful yeasty smell of bread. Inside were bread ends. Pulling one piece out, she sniffed at it suspiciously. Though it looked a little discoloured, she still considered it a good trade. Tentatively, she took a bite. It was rather leathery and dry but her saliva moistened the starch up easily. She chewed slowly and deliberately, trying to make the taste last.

 _This is enough to last me a few days._

The clap of thunder made her jerked her head skyward. She stiffened for a second, frozen by the noise. The sky opened up and rain fell in earnest. "Shit!" she cursed, the fat droplets of water jolting her into action.

She took the time to make sure the bag was knotted. She refused to let rain ruined her hard earned food. What she lacked in stride length, she made up for in frequency. Nike was the only thing moving on the streets. The deeper into the Slums she ran, the emptier the street was. But it was by no means void of people, they were all merely hidden. But the rain was deterrence enough for most predators. After all she was just another kid, with nothing but the clothes on her back.

Nike was almost home. These were alleys, streets and empty buildings most familiar to her. Home wasn't an empty shop front. Home wasn't a soft comfortable bed and warm showers. Home was a large tarp filched from a construction site covering a large cardboard box. It was big enough for her to lay curled on her back and still had all her limbs inside. She had collected piles of newspaper and smaller flattened cardboard boxes for warmth. Though the city was mostly a balmy 28˚C, nights were still cold outdoors.

Nike yanked the canvas sheet covering her home open and dove in. There was a yelp of surprise and she froze. From among the newspaper a black nose poked out. She laughed. "It's you."

The form squirmed and stood up. Newspaper falling to reveal a dog as dirty as Nike was. It was just a dog, but it was Dog in his mismatched ears glory. He jumped and nipped at Nike's ankle happily before he poked his nose at the bag. Giggling, she twisted the bag out of his reach. "Where were you?" she asked. "If you were here, I didn't have to try my luck at Midtown. We could have gone to the Transit Hub!"

She used her legs to keep the dog away as she checked the precious cargo. It was dry. Carefully, she re-knotted the bag and put it aside. "That's for later," she said, pushing the nosy dog away.

She grimaced and stripped out of her wet clothes and wrung the water out. There was no good place to hang them so she spread them out as best she could. Shivering slightly she pulled the smaller canvas sheet over her naked body while Dog pressed himself against her back.

"You are warm," she whispered as she cuddled up against him.

Nike smiled despite her trembling body and pounding head. It was a confusing day but good all around. "I got a name today," she whispered. "My name is Nike."


	3. The Reds

Chapter 3 - The Reds

 **WARNING: VIOLENCE DONE TO CHILD, VIOLENCE COMMITTED BY CHILD**

Nike stretched. Her arms reaching upwards, hitting one end of her cardboard home while her feet extending out to the other end. The flap opened and her toes hit the chill morning air and promptly planted her toes right into a puddle, the last remnant of the rain from the day before. With a hiss, she cringed, pulling her feet back inside. She levered herself upright, shivering a little. Her eyes were still slits, sticky with gunk. Navigating her tiny hovel with eyes half closed was part of her morning ritual. Nike could feel the heat and light from the small gap between the flaps of the opening. She angled her head away as her hands searched out for the clothes she laid out to dry.

Instead, she found something warm and furry. There was a quiet huff and the lump stood. A cold wet nose prodded her face and she groaned. Her hands blindly pushed the offending lump away. "Not now, Dog," she muttered.

Her hands went on with her search. Patting to the left yielded nothing. She did the same thing on the right and it had the same result. Nike sighed in frustration. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and winced at the light. She blinked hard and rubbed her eyes. "There you are," she murmured as she reached towards her clothes.

The dog took her moment of distraction to poke his nose at her bag of bread ends again. But Nike was wise to his ways. "No, you don't," she said, pushing him firmly away, tucking the bag firmly behind her.

The oversized dirty clothes were slightly cleaner from the rain. Though they were still slightly damp, Nike pulled them on anyway. As she tugged on her shorts, Dog perked up. His ear, the erect one, turned and twisted. When she could hear the scrape of multiple footsteps, the dog shot out out her home.

"Traitor," she muttered before carefully pulling the flaps of the cardboard box close, leaving herself a small gap to look out from.

She held her breath and waited. "Walk away, walk away."

Nike counted the step-tread noises that approached. One of them was dragging their shoes. Another was kicking at every single loose item that littered the alley. A third one had the heavy thread of someone large. And the fourth had such a light step she could barely hear it.

One of the kicked cans thumped against her home. Her nostrils flared. Then the unmistakable sound of a foot stomping against her shelter. One corner promptly crumpled. The rain did no favours to the structural integrity of her cardboard hovel, no matter how well she tried to reinforce it.

Nike's reaction was instant. "Hey!" she yelled as she crawled out of her home. "What are you doing?"

Outside were four boys of varying ages, all of them bigger and older. They stared at her. Nike's fists tightened as she raised them before her, mimicking a pose she had seen in some posters. They weren't familiar faces. _They must be one of the newer gangs around._ Gangs were always forming, disbanding, being taken over or destroyed like mushrooms after the rain. With a snarl curling her lips, she growled at them.

The first youth was built like a wall. His frame was stout and short, hovering on the edge of adulthood. With an oily stubby ponytail and a switchblade in hand, he sneered, "Look what we've got here."

The blade flicked open with a snap. Nike stiffened and kept her eyes on it.

The second boy was lean but short, his head completely shone. His skin was pale and pasty, almost unhealthily so. Despite having his full growth, he looked young and unsure. Her eyes flicked to his hands. She couldn't help notice the bleeding stubs of his fingernails. They were all chewed down to bits. "Just a little girl," the second snorted. "What about it, Cutter?"

"Scars," Cutter laughed, "This here is prey."

Nike's lips curled higher. "I am nobody's prey!" she shouted.

She didn't dare take her eyes off either of them. She prayed, she hoped, she wished someone would come. But this was the Slums, help was as unlikely as a credit chit. Nike gritted her teeth and swung her fist at Cutter, who was the nearest. He made no move to dodge. Her fist connected solidly, it sank a little against the initial layer of fat but quickly found solid muscle underneath. She winced, quickly withdrawing, her eyes darted between the boys.

A lean olive skinned boy barked a mocking laugh. A pair of plastic glasses perched on his nose, it almost slid off the length of his nose by how hard he was laughing.

"It's not really that funny, Tenner," Cutter drawled, his hand massaging the spot she hit.

Nike shrank back as they advanced. Loathe as much as she was to give up her home, she didn't want to be hemmed in by them. She was realistic, this was a fight she wouldn't win. Scars lunged at her, but she ducked under his outstretched arms. He stuck his foot out, and she stumbled. It wasn't enough to bring her down. She twisted and danced out of his hands. Scars growled in frustration while the others were sniggered.

Nike backed away from them but bumped against the opening to her little shelter. There was nowhere else to go. And they outnumbered her. "What do you want? Leave me alone!" she shouted, fear making her voice high and sharp.

Her eyes scanned the opening of the alley again. This time it wasn't empty. Two pair of eyes was watching. "Help!" she shouted, but she realised it was a pair of kids. They were younger than she was. There was no way they could help. They scurried away. It was what she would have done in their shoes.

Nike gritted her teeth and tried to will the blue fire alive. Nothing happened. Her arms remained normal. There was no unseen force. There was no pulling at her core. She clenched all her muscles, trying to summon it though sheer force of will. Nike grunted, squeezing her eyes shut for good measure.

Nothing.

The three boys looked on, more curious than anything else. "What do you think she is doing?" Cutter asked, scratching at the sparse stubble on his neck and chin.

"Maybe she is taking a dump?" Scars suggested, sniggering at his own joke.

Tenner rolled his eyes. "I just want to know if she is hiding anything good inside," he said.

Then the fourth one stepped towards the others. He was more man than boy, older than the rest. Standing at least a head over the others, he was muscled and healthy. Nike eyed him warily, giving up on summoning the erratic magic.

"This isn't the point of this trip. Why are we stopping here?" he asked, pushing himself to the front.

"Awww, Frank, "Cutter said, "we're just having a little of fun yeah?"

"Yeah," Scars echoed, his head bobbing up and down. "We're hot shots now, aren't we?"

Frank levelled his grey eyes on the younger boy. Scars clamped his lips shut and shuffled awkwardly away from Frank. Menace seemed to radiate from him. He folded his arms across his chest, muscles rippling under his t-shirt. Nike gritted her teeth, eyes darting between all of them.

 _Trapped!_

Her breaths came harsh and quick, fists clenched, she was ready for the first chance to escape. But before she could act, Frank sighed. "So what are you waiting for? You guys just want to rough up some kid right?"

Scars chuckled. "Yeah."

Nike's blood turned to ice in her veins. The casual indifference to petty crimes were par for the course in the Slums but this was different. This was being malicious without a cause. There was nothing she had they could possibly want. They were doing this because they could. She had nothing to offer them to stop this. Nike dashed furious tears from her face.

"Must I do everything myself?" Frank asked, bored. The other three were waiting for his permission.

Desperation forced her into action. Nike did the only thing she could think of. She charged head first at him. He caught her wrist easily and twisted. Nike screamed as her wrist popped audibly. She struggled to tug her hand free, but all it did was send waves of pain up her arm. Tears were rolling down her cheeks in earnest now despite her best efforts.

"Scars," he said, "Search the place."

She whimpered as she watched him crawling into her home. Judging by the noise he was making, he was finding the space too small for him. "Serves him right," she growled through her gritted teeth.

It didn't take long before Scars was out again with her bag of bread ends. He looked almost triumphant. "This looks important." He smirked as he made a big show of weighing it in his hands. "Nice and heavy too."

"That's mine!" she shouted, reaching out to grab the bag. She yelped at the motion made her trapped wrist flared in agnoy.

"Uh, uh, uh," Scars said in a singsong voice, wriggling his finger in her face. "This must be treasure then."

"Open it," Tenner approached.

Scars looked at Frank for permission before opening it. His lips curled in disgust as he tipped the bread ends out onto the ground. Nike yowled like a cat as she twisted with renewed strength, wrist be damned. Scars was out of her reach but Frank wasn't. She didn't care who he was.

This was food, _her food._ It was going last her for days and now it was wasted. She wouldn't allow no one to get away with this. She didn't survive two years on her own to be cowed by the likes of them.

Then, it connected. Some switch inside her flipped. It was random, had always been. Maybe the sight of Scars stomping on her bread ends, grounding them under his heel. Blue ran up her arms as she flared, brilliant and striking.

Nike wanted to feel Frank's sharp cheekbones under her fists, but he was too tall. She aimed at the next best thing - his groin. Her fist buried itself in flesh, soft and yielding, with a force she didn't know she had. A sharp yelp came from Frank. His legs gave out like she had taken a sledgehammer to his knees. Nike pulled her other hand free. The pain was like a drill bit grinding against her nerves. She cradled her wrist to her chest. Tears from pain, frustration, and anger spilled from her eyes.

She hesitated for a second, weighing between continuing her rampage or fleeing. Blood rushed to her face as she bit her lip in shame. Teeth gnashing, Nike turned tail and ran. Her legs pushed against the ground. Her arms pressed against her chest. Her lungs heaved.

 _Faster, faster, faster!_

Then a pair of hands yanked on her oversized shirt, her too large shoes foiled her run and she went sprawling. The ground came rushing up towards her face. With her arms pressed against her chest, there was nothing to break her fall. Nike went down hard, right into a puddle of water. The stench of the water was overpowering but what's worse was the taste. It was putrid and bitter. But she was too dazed to do more than kick out against whoever was holding on to her.

"Let. Me. Go!"

She tried to turn over to face her attacker but a knee pressed against her back. It felt like a building was sitting on her. Air rushed out of her lungs in a strangled cough. The pressure forced her nose into the puddle. She clamped her mouth shut so that she didn't take more sewage in. Her wrist screamed as grit and tiny rocks dug themselves into her flesh.

"Let her up," The voice was oddly strangled.

The pressure eased, and she took gulps of air. A hand laced through her messy black mop of hair and wrenched her head up while another hand took hold of her shirt. They hauled her bodily to her feet. Water was dripping down her entire front.

"Now you're done," Scar said, delight dripping from his voice from behind her.

Nike bucked like a horse, twisting to bite. What was a little less hair if she could sink her teeth on Scars? But his grip was too tight, her head too woozy to do any real damage. She cast her baleful eyes on Frank. It was with pleasure she noticed he looked pale and grey. "Serves you right," she smirked.

Frank gritted his teeth. He wobbled on his feet and couldn't find it in himself to straighten his back. Nike expected to find anger but instead he looked at her appraisingly. That scared her more than if she found rage facing her.

 _He is a Snatcher! He will cut me up and steal my insides._

Sweat beaded across her forehead not from exertion but from fear. She was too tired to fight. The day had barely begun, and she never felt more plummeted by life. Her stomach decided at that time to growl. Her eyes stared at the ground up bread ends. Anger surged again.

Frank ignored her, opting to look at the others. Cutter looked away, grimacing in sympathy. Tenner squinted and busied himself with rooting around her home. Scars was the only one sniggering. "You're going to get it now, girl," he said, "nobody gets away with _that_."

"Scars," Frank said, his voice still strained.

The younger boy looked up, eager for whatever orders Frank had for him. His grip tightened painfully, tugging at her hair. Nike couldn't do anything but allow him to drag her around by her hair.

"Yes, boss!"

"Shut up," Frank said.

He turned his disturbingly colourless grey eyes to her. Wincing, he shuffled towards her. Nike struggled, but Scars held her fast.

"Girl," Frank said.

Nike jerked her chin up at him. "What do you want?" she snarled, her voice breaking at the last word. Her face flushed with heat.

"What do you think about joining the Reds?" he asked, his eyes staring into her own.

Nike shuddered, a chill running down her spine. It was a certainty that there was only one right answer. Before she could answer, protests erupted from the others. Scars was the loudest. "Why are we recruiting her?" he asked, giving her a shake for good measure.

Nike's legs were rubbery by this time. Using her magical power always left her tired and hungry. And this time doing that without eating anything since the night before was taking a toll.

"Frank, I can see why you recruited Tenner but this girl?" Cutter asked, his hand gesturing wildly at her. "She is too young to be useful. She is just another mouth to feed. Our tithe would just go up."

Tenner kept quiet, his head cocked. "Biotics," he said almost reverently.

Frank chuckled. "And that's why Tenner is smarter than the both of you put together," he said. "This little girl will help us make a lot of money."

He shuffled closer. "What do you say, girl?"

It didn't do to just give in quite so easily. "What's in it for me?" she snarled.

Frank rested his weight on one leg and cocked his hip. "The Reds guarantees your safety," he said as he counted on his fingers. "Your meals, a warm bed and showers. And maybe eventually credits."

The snarl faded as the gears in her head turned. "Food, shelter, safety?" she repeated.

Frank nodded. "All you have to do is to do as I tell you."

"Like what?" Nike asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Well, hitting people for starters, which you're already good at," he pointed out.

Cutter and Scars couldn't control their sniggers. Frank shot them both a look, silencing them. "Among other things," he went on. "You will have us as friends instead of enemies."

Nike bit the inside of her cheek. It sounded like a good deal. Living on the streets sounded like complete freedom, but it was a tough life. Her stomach growled, reminding her about her priorities.

"And we can get your wrist looked at."

She glared at Frank, pulling her wrist tighter against her chest. He grunted as he squat down to her level. Without asking for permission, he ran his hand over the back of her neck and up her hair. Nike flinched and pulled away but Frank's other hand clamped down on her shoulder. She winced and held still. Satisfied with whatever he was trying to do, he got to his feet again.

Frank turned to Tenner. "No amp or implant," he said.

Tenner nodded and tapped on his omni-tool. It was one of those clunky cuff models. They all had one. And those were expensive. _Unless they stole them._ Still it spoke of some sort of organisation. More than the regular gangs she had seen in the Slums.

She observed them, properly this time, without the haze of anger and fear. They were all dressed in clothes that fit them. They were clean, cleaner than she was. None of them looked like they were sleeping it rough. The deal was looking better to her by the minute.

"So what will it be, girl?" Frank asked. "You want friends or enemies?"

Nike couldn't bring herself to look into Frank's colourless eyes. Behind him, Cutter was flicking the little knife opened and closed, raising his eyebrows at her meaningfully. Tenner was busy on his omni-tool, tapping away. Scars' fingers were still tight in her hair. His breath beating down her neck. She wished she could cringe away.

Pain flashed across her face. Nike winced. Her cheek stung as it throbbed. Frank had his hand up ready to slap her on the other cheek. "What will it be, girl?" he repeated. "Friends or enemies?"

Nike exhaled, long and hard. Her green-yellow eyes finally meeting Frank's, shuddering a little. "Friends," she spat.

Just like that, Frank jerked his head at Scars. Without him holding her up, she sagged to the ground. Frank turned to his people and said, "So…"

He turned to look at her. "What's your name?"

Nike considered not answering. Frank was decidedly not nice. She glared at him, but her sore body convinced her otherwise. She might as well go with the flow and see where this took her. "Nike," she said, her tongue poking at her sore cheek from the inside.

"Nike? Like the shoes?" he asked.

She frowned. "Like the woman in the poster."

Frank shrugged. "Right, let's welcome our latest member, Nike."

Scars and Cutter looked at her with doubt in their eyes, but neither spoke against it. Tenner had the same look of anticipation as Frank.

"Right, now that's out of the way," Frank said, turning towards Cutter. "I'll need a little help walking."

The four of them started down the alley. With a lingering look at her crumpled home, ground down bread ends, Nike gritted her teeth.

 _This is for the better._


	4. The New Kid

Chapter 4 - The New Kid

 **WARNING FOR NIGHTMARE, FIRE, BURNING BUILDING**

Heat, so hot it hurt. Her eyes flew opened. Red, yellow and orange flames licking across her clothes. Hands slapping and beating to put it out but there was too much. She struggled out of her shirt and tossed it on the bed. The flames gobbled it up hungrily and asked for seconds. Groans echoed throughout the room. She eyed the ceiling worriedly.

"Get up!" she shouted.

The others were rousing slowly, blissfully unaware. For these kids, it was just another day.

But the air smelt funny. It wasn't just the stench of melting plastic but something else. She couldn't quite put her finger to it. It was the scent of clean air and rain, there wasn't the telltale sound of rumbling thunder. The back of her throat itched and she coughed. A cacophony of coughs started as every other kid began choking.

It wasn't safe. They had to get out. Danger screamed in her head and it rocked her to her bones. Small feet padding over to the door. "Open the door!" one of the others shouted.

Her voice joined theirs, sharp and panicked. Her muscles corded as she twisted the door knob. It rattled but it wouldn't turn. "Teacher Mary, let us out!"

Growing heat against her back made her look. The fire had devoured their beds and bedding, and it had grown into a beast. Roaring, crackling as it demanded for more tribute. Shrieks of panic filled the air as tiny fists hammered against the door barring their escape. Fear seized her thumping heart, but she forced herself to stay calm and think.

 _The windows are not locked._

She pushed through the crowd and headed towards the nearest window. She wrapped her fingers wrapped around the handles. One quick yank and push the window cracked open a tiny gap. A gust of night wind swept in and threw it wide open. They crashed outwards against the concrete exterior of the building.

"Windows!" she shouted above the din. Those who kept their heads heeded her words. More hands found handles.

She peered down. The ground lay hard and unyielding below. She gulped. Glancing back to look between the encroaching flames and locked door. The heat was near unbearable as cries and screams filled the air. Smoke choked her lungs. She gritted her teeth and found a chair. It scraped against the floor as she dragged it over and pushed it against the wall. A quick hop and she had clambered up onto the sill. Sitting on the edge for a beat, feet dangling out in the cool air, she inhaled and shoved the fear down. Between the space of a single breath, a fist squeezed her heart as it slammed against her chest. Her fingers kept a tight grip on the window sill as her toes seeking the tiny sliver of ledge below, inching, reaching. Her balance tipped and she slipped completely off the edge. She yelped but her feet found the ledge. It was steady and firm.

 _Now what?_

Eyes scanning but not finding another way forward.

 _I didn't think this through._

She looked back towards the open window and tried to pull herself up. Grunts and cries of exertion were useless to the passive opening. The other kids stared back at her, their hands too weak to pull her up. There was no way back. Fingers scrapping trying to find purchase against the rough concrete, toes curling for a fraction more grip.

A explosion rocked the building.

Screams from the living and howls from the dying rang out. Glass and debris showered down on her. The window just ahead along the ledge was blown open. "All right, I can do this," she shouted as her ears rang. "Just don't look down."

Fingers stretching out, toes worming forward, she inched along the ledge. She looked back at the window she came from, one of the other kids was trying to do what she did. A pair of feet coming down towards the ledge too fast.

"No!" she shouted.

It was a warning too late. Toes found air instead of purchase and the boy plummeted. In the split second between thought travelling through synapses, she jerked. Hand reaching out, then pulling back to the tenuous grip she had again.

 _I can't help him. If I did, I'll fall too._

She watched as body met ground with a solid smack.

* * *

Nike gasped as she sat up, her breaths coming hard and fast. Eyes wild as she searched for the red, yellow and orange. But it was pitch black. Sleepy murmurs and soft snores punctuated the hammering of her heart.

 _A dream, just a dream._

She sighed, running her left hand over her face and winced. It was heavily bandaged. Then she remembered. Frank and the others, her wrist popping and pain flashing, blue flames and a satisfying punch, the offer and now she was sleeping in the Reds' base.

It was warm, it was infinitely more comfortable than her hovel but Dog wasn't here. Dog always slept at her back. It made her feel safe. Without him, she had a hard time falling asleep. She didn't know the others, let alone trust them. _They might just be waiting for a chance to kill me._ Eventually she shifted her sleeping bag towards the wall and managed to fall asleep after pressing her back against the cold wall.

Nike sat up, pulling her legs to her chest and rubbed her eyes. They were sandy and painful, but she knew from experience she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep after a nightmare like that one.

* * *

Tenner led them down a street. It was deeper into the Slums than she had ventured before. There were almost no kids around, everyone were older than Frank. They were the youngest around. Eyes watched her, they tracked her every move. Nike rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably. With a snarl she turned and glared. Her usual show of force did nothing. It was only met with derision.

"Look at the kid," one of them laughed.

She was gearing up to give him a piece of her mind when she left a heavy hand on her shoulder. "This way," Scars said, dragging her by her shirt in the right direction.

Nike focused her displeasure on Scars, lifting her good hand, making a show of punching his groin. She grinned when he flinched, his veneer of acting tough crumbling under her empty threat. But the feeling of satisfaction faded quickly. She was tired and hungry and more than a little lost. The day had been more exciting than her entire year put together. Sighing, she turned back to follow the others but stopped when someone with yellowing teeth and bloodshot eyes stepped into her path .

"Girl, walk faster," Scars said as he nudged her from the back.

Nike stumbled but mostly remained where she stood, eyeing the man warily.

"Not so fast," the Red Sand addict said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Are you selling the girl? How much for a turn?"

She cringed away while Scars bared his teeth, putting himself between her and the addict. "Get lost, old man," he said, pushing the man out of the way.

The addict fell heavily. Scars ignored his cry of protest. His hand closed around her good hand and dragged her along. "Don't ever stop for them," he hissed as she shuffled along in his wake. His longer strides forced her to jog. "They are parasites, all of them. You're one of us now and we take care of our own."

In that moment, Nike felt safe. It was a feeling foreign and unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Her hand tightened around Scars' larger one.

"Keep up, girl."

"Nike," she said. "My name is Nike."

He looked down, eyes soft and sad for a moment before hardening. "Fine, Nike," he said exasperatedly.

It wasn't long before they turned into a dark little alley. Rats and sewage dominated the tiny passageway. "Follow them," Scars said, pointing down the alley. "I'll keep watch here."

Nike bit her lip and did as she was told. She wasn't feeling so good, using the blue fire tend to do that to her. This was one of her worst after effects. Her stomach had given up asking for food. All that was left was a deep gnawing inside her gut that hurt as bad as her wrist.

Tenner rapped his knuckles against one of the few doors that lined the alley. "Who is it? It's too early for bloody stitches," a voice rumbled from the inside as she caught up to the others.

"It's Frank. Open up if you know what's good for you."

There was no reply and for a while nothing happened. But eventually there was a thunk as a bolt was slid back and the door creaked open. A man in his late forties, crowfeet trailing from the ends of his eyes, dark shiny hair slicked back from his forehead, opened the door. One hand scratching as his hairy bare chest. He eyed all of them before stopping at Nike.

"You're new," he remarked, before turning his attention to Frank. "What's the problem?"

"Time to earn that discount you always ask for," Cutter said and push past the Indian man.

* * *

Nike sat and swung her legs. Her oversized shoes threatened to slip off her feet. Tenner was tapping away at his omni-tool. She leaned over and caught a glimpse of a yellow circle eating dots on his screen. He glanced at her and leaned away, pulling the screen out of her view.

Cutter had left to join Scars after depositing Frank with the man. She glanced around the small space. It was clearly a clinic and a home at the same time. The stench of dried blood and antiseptic made her wrinkle her nose. Tenner glanced at her. "How old are you?"

Nike shrugged. "Does it matter?" she asked. "12?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't think so," he said as went back to his game. "But I don't think you are any older than ten."

"Do I look ten?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"How would you know? You see many kids? How old are you?"

"Kid, you talk too much," Tenner retorted.

She sighed and went back to swinging her legs. Before she could ask more, a yelp rang out. It came from behind the curtained-off area at the back. Frank was back there with the doctor - Stitches was what they called him.

Stitches' chuckles came through slightly muffled but clear enough. "She got you good, boy."

"I'm not a boy," Frank growled, "and stop talking about this so loudly."

"You mean while I literally have your balls in my hand?"

"Stitches," Frank's voice got low and dangerous. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Silence reigned. Nike glanced at Tenner. He had his eyes trained on the curtained off area and he pressed a finger to his lips. She recognised the gesture and pressed her lips together.

Stitches cleared his throat. "You're done. Right now, it's all swollen and I don't have the equipment to check for sure."

"You can't be sure? And you call yourself a doctor?"

"Frank, do you have access to an ultrasound somewhere? That's what I need to make sure. Then surgery to repair if this is a rapture and not a bruise," Stitches retorted.

More silence. Nike gulped but kept starring at the curtains as if she could see through them. She was the one who punched Frank. _Is this going to bite me in the ass?_

"Fine," Frank gritted out in the end. "I'll need the good painkillers."

"Those are expensive," Stitches protested. "You can't just barge in and demand things."

"Not as expensive as your clinic. It will be a shame if I sic my biotic on you," Frank pointed out. "I got one just out there now."

Stitches cleared his throat again and sighed. Nike stiffened. Frank had mentioned the same word in reference to her. _What does that mean?_

There were more rummaging sounds before Stitches pulled the yellowing curtains aside. Frank hobbled out. "Cutter!" he barked.

The stout boy entered the clinic and helped Frank out. As he past Nike, he turned to Tenner, "Get her hand looked at and get her cleaned up. She stinks too badly now."

"What about an omni-tool?" Tenner asked.

"We'll see. Maybe I can fix something up with the junk we have back on base," he replied. "Oh and feed her. Biotics need more food. We need to grow our little investment. I have plans for her."

Tenner nodded and grinned. Nike shifted in her seat at the expectant look she got from both of them. Tenner jerked his head towards Stitches and she hopped off her chair. She shuffled behind the curtained off area and sat on a stool next to a table. Stitches' mouth twisted at her arrival. "Quite a little gang our little Frank is building," he remarked.

Nike kept quiet, she wasn't sure what exactly he had expected from her. He sighed. It seemed to be his go to action. She felt the need to do the same as well. Maybe it was contagious. He took a long draw from the lit cigarette between his lips. "Let me see it."

She angled her body away from him. The curling tendrils of smoke made her eyes watered a little. Stitches huffed again, blowing smoke in her direction. She coughed. "Look, your boss extorts money and supplies from me. I don't need to add coddling a kid to the list. If you don't want my expert opinion on your wrist, you can go. I don't care."

Nike shifted to face Stitches. He took a swig from a dirty little glass bottle on his desk. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he downed the liquid inside as if it was the nectar of the gods. He smacked his lips and thumped the half empty bottle on the desk. "So what will it be?" he asked as he burped.

Nike grimaced and offered her left wrist to him. It was now swollen and had doubled in size. Stitches seized her hand roughly and she yelped. "Hold still," he grumbled.

He prodded, pressed and manipulated her wrist. Nike bit her lip, glaring at him furiously. Eventually he stood up and pulled a roll of bandages out from one of the drawers. "Now, where is that bucket?" he muttered to himself. "Wait here."

Without waiting for a reply, he left. "Where am I supposed to go anyway?" she muttered under her breath, feeling more tired as the minutes passed.

Eventually Stitches returned with a pail of water and a bar of soap. "Wash your arm," he instructed.

Once that's done, he tossed her a towel to dry off. "Hold out your arm."

Nike thrusted her arm at him. He started to wind the bandages above her wrist downwards towards her fingers and up again, until the entire roll was used up. "Done," Stitches declared. "Get your ass out of my clinic."

Nike needed no invitation to leave. She didn't like hanging around Stitches anymore than he did with her. As they left, the doctor shouted from the back of the clinic, "And don't come back again!"

* * *

What followed was a time of firsts for her. Scars was in charge of orienting the new kid. That first day, he showed her where they took baths. It was just a big empty space with shower heads lining the wall. The water they used were siphoned directly from the underground pipes the State had put in decades before. She tried the first one and the water dribbled from shower head like a sad little stream but it was warm.

Nike exclaimed as much. Scars snorted. "That's not all," he said, handing her a bar of soap.

She pressed it against her nose and sniffed. It was floral with a hint of medicinal scent. "Smells good," she commented.

"Much better than what you smell like now," he retorted. "Only a few of those shower heads work properly so use the right ones."

The next day was a luxurious day of sleeping in and having food readily available. Tenner was holed up with Frank most of the day, discussing something with plenty of finger pointing in her direction. Cutter took a whetstone to his blade while Scars was working out. Nike was happy to spend the time in silence. But eventually she got bored and she wandered outside.

"Don't go too far," Cutter yelled as she crossed the threshold.

"I won't," she replied.

"Scars, watch her," she heard Frank commanded.

Their building was a stout brick one with a large "Bl-k B" painted on the outside, two of the letters too worn down to make out what they were. It was one among many identical ones, but theirs was the only one that hadn't collapsed under years of neglect. Nike could see the blocks running from A to H. They were in a small cluster. A rusty barbed wire fence ran the perimeter, enclosing the blocks within it. It was mostly still up but parts were flattened over with old mattresses for easy entry and exit.

She walked passed the long rusted over gate. The hinges screamed in protest as she swung it open. There was a wide two lane road outside. She watched as one old petrol fuelled car puttered by as she stepped out. A short brick wall facing the road had words on it. She walked backwards away from the wall so that she could read the words better.

"No!" It was Scars.

Nike ignored him and kept her attention on the words. Cocking her head she tried to read them. It was too long for her to sound out in her head.

"You were told not to wander!" he yelled as he jogged over.

"I was just looking," she said, rolling her eyes at him. "What's wrong with looking?"

"You were thinking about it, I know!" he insisted. "Come on, let's head back."

Nike planted her feet and pointed. "What does it say?"

Scars rubbed at the few scraggly hair he had on his chin. "You can't read?"

Nike frowned and repeated, "What does it say?"

"Jurong Youth Home," he said quickly, just to get them moving. "Come on, let's go back."

"What's a youth home?" she asked, her feet remained stubbornly still.

"I'll answer your question and then you're coming with me. You don't want to get me mad," Scars warned, putting his hands on his hips.

Nike grinned. Scars looked decidedly not scary at all, especially considering he had no scars on him as far as she could tell. Still, she was in a good enough mood, clothed, clean and fed, despite missing Dog a little. What was there not to love about being in the Reds? But a tiny voice in her head told her not to trust anyone.

"Sure," she agreed easily.

Scars narrowed his eyes, not quite trusting her smile. Eventually he gave up. "It's a juvenile detention center. Basically a prison for little shits like you."

Without allowing her to speak, Scars dragged her back to base. As Nike tottered along to keep from falling, she asked, "Why are you called Scars? You have none."

"Shut up!"

* * *

That evening, Frank tossed Scars a credit chit. "You know what to do?" he asked.

"What?" Scars caught the chit easily and pocketed it. "For her?"

"Yes, for her," Frank replied.

"I did it for Tenner the last time. He is the rookie here. Shouldn't he be the one doing it?" Scars protested.

Frank stood up, stiffening a little. Nike bit her lip as she watched. He looked a little bow-legged. She was satisfied, looking at the lasting effects of her punch. "Scars," Frank barked.

The younger boy flinched, his face reddening as he stood up. The chair scrapped against the concrete floor. "Fine," he said.

Cutter shook his head at him, while Tenner made vague shooing motions. "Girl, let's go," he snarled, turning to go without waiting for her.

Nike trotted along side Scars. "Where are we going?"

"The Underbelly."

Her eyes brightened at the name. "What is the Underbelly?"

Scars glared at her. Nike furrowed her brow comically back. "What is the Underbelly?" she repeated, louder this time.

He huffed and walked faster.


	5. The Underbelly

Chapter 5 - The Underbelly

The alleys were mostly dark. The street lights, those that still worked, flickered and dimmed at random intervals. Everything was shuttered and quiet. "There is nothing here," Nike said as she kicked an empty can down the street.

It clattered noisily as it hopped, skipped and bounced before hitting Scars on the shin. He glared at her. The lone light overhead threw his face into deep shadow. "We're here," he declared.

She glanced around. It was just more abandoned structures. If she squinted she could see a couple of Nightwalkers of different genders, standing under the working lights hoping for a customer. But that was it.

This wasn't part of her usual hunting ground, but she had been here in the day. It was no more exciting in the day than at night. It was more of the same, gang members hanging out, Red Sand addicts shooting up, kids too young to join a gang begging or scavenging for scraps.

"There is nothing here," Nike said, frowning at Scars.

He pointed at a single level building. It was the worst of the bunch. Gaping holes that used to hold glass panels. Its entrance blocked by heaps of worthless scraps and litter. He led her down the alley that ran alongside it. There was a single red light next to an unobtrusive door. As they neared, a muffled bass line booming through it. Maybe it wasn't as dead as she assumed. Scars stepped up and pressed on a button. He turned and looked up at a security camera aimed at the enterance. Nothing happened for a while. Then a distorted voice came through the speaker, "Who is the other one?"

Scars grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt and dragged her. "Look at the camera and smile."

Nike shook his hand off her shirt and took pains to straighten it. She frowned at the blinking red light next the camera and she flipped it the bird.

A chuckle came through. "You got a feisty one there," the voice said.

Then, a thunk like a heavy bolt sliding away. Nike reached out to pull the door open. It swung begrudgingly when she threw her entire weight into it. Scars snorted and pulled.

"Welcome to the Underbelly."

* * *

"Wait here," he told her.

The Underbelly wasn't a single level like it seemed from outside. They took an elevator down and down and down. It went on forever. Nike couldn't help but be reminded of the 18 levels of hell. When the elevator door retracted, her senses were assaulted by scents, sights and sounds.

 _This isn't the Slums anymore._

Nike blinked. There was an entire city underground. It was a haven for the desperate and hungry. And they were everywhere, men, women, even some aliens. Her eyes were never wider. She pressed herself against the nearest solid object just to get out of the relentless flow of traffic.

Neon lights flickered and flashed, promising pleasure, fortune and hope. Food, strange and familiar, sizzled and roasted at every corner. Giant fans whirled loudly, making sure things stayed ventilated. Voices screaming in pleasure, howling in triumph and crying in fear. All of it contributing to the thumping bass line that pressed against her chest. People flocked to the lights like moths to a flame, hungry for the chance to trade their wretched existence for something better.

There was a tension in the air that she didn't understand. The hair on the back of her neck stood on its end. Nike rubbed the back of her neck, but the feeling wasn't going away. She craned her neck around and saw guards clad in armours and armed with rifles. They stood on higher levels looking down at the throngs of people at the central square. She shuddered.

"Girly, why are you here all alone?" one lady asked as she sauntered past.

Nike stared. Scantily clad in a dress of shimmering gold strands, a pair of shades perched on her nose despite the dimness inside the Underbelly. The lady smiled at her. Her teeth were all filed into sharp points. She shuffled backwards uncomfortably. The lady snorted at her reaction. "This is really no place for little girls."

With that as her parting words, she wandered off on the arm of another lady. All Nike could do was staring unblinkingly at the dancing strands of gold that barely covered the lady's round pert dusky butt.

"Here," Scars said as he exited the shop. She closed her mouth with effort and face him. The shop was one among the many lining the perimeter of the central square. He thrusted a laden duffle bag in her direction.

"What's inside," she asked as she promptly dropped it to the ground and unzipped it.

More than one Underbelly denizens scowled at her. Scars sighed, dragging her and the bag to a quieter spot. "Clothes?" she asked as she pulled out a t-shirt that was closer to her size.

The material felt soft to the touch. She pressed it against her nose and it smelt fresh and clean. She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. Scars rolled his eyes. Nike rummaged further and found an omni-tool cuff. "This is mine?" she asked, her voice hushed, eyes bright.

He nodded. She pulled on the omni-tool cuff onto her right arm. It was so loose it went up to her elbow. Scars pulled it down to her wrist and tightened it. "Thank you," she said, grinning at him.

Before Scars could asked if she had used one before, she was poking away at it already. Her attention completely absorbed by the new toy she had. _Joining the Reds is the best decision I've made!_

"Come on, we have to see the Dowager," Scars said.

Nike wasn't listening. She had found a scanning function and was busy scanning every thing in sight. "Kebabs - 50 credits each," the omni-tool intoned.

"Awesome!" she exclaimed, realising how useful this was going to be.

"Come on," Scars said, nudging her on.

They stepped out towards the central square. One whiff of the sizzling meat, Nike slowed. Her nose leading the way, she detoured towards the stall. Flames, red, orange and yellow flashed before her eyes. Screams and cries of another time overwhelmed her ears. She stumbled, almost tripping over. A long arm reached down and steadied her. She looked up to find a tall alien with hard plates and mandibles looking at her.

The alien growled, sharp teeth flashing, but Nike couldn't understand the strange dual-flanged tones. She pressed the heel of her palms against her eyes, trying to rid herself the strange images in her head. "I'm so sorry," Scars apologised profusely as he pulled her along.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she followed Scars' insistent tugging. "What's the matter with you," he growled. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"What did they say?" she asked.

"I don't know. I don't have one of those fancy translator chip in my head either," he retorted. "He? She? showed their sharp pointy teeth, that's enough to get the point across."

For once, she didn't have a fast retort ready. "Stay in the queue," he said, shoving her firmly into a long line snaking into the main attraction of the Underbelly.

With that, Scars disappeared again. The strange flash of memory was firmly pushed out of her mind when she looked at her surroundings. They were no longer near the central square. This space was dominated by a single structure. Nike craned her neck as her eyes traced it upwards. Red lights lit up the exterior. And right in the middle were words backlit with white. She smirked as she put her scanner function on her omni-tool to good use.

"Royal Palace Casino," her omni-tool read.

Nike repeated after the omni-tool a few times before tapping at her omni-tool. It explained the meaning behind every word individually. She tried to commit them to memory. The man she was queueing behind turned around and glared at her. "Knock it off!" he snarled.

Nike bared her teeth at him as she growled. Her eyes took in the bloodshot eyes and instantly dismissed him as an addict. She peered at the queue ahead of her. Everyone in line had the same look. They were merely fodder, feeding the Royal Palace with credits. And when that ran out, the machine would demand blood and lives.

These were strata within the Underbelly. People scurried about like bugs hiding from the outside world. Guards, complete with hard looks and trigger happy fingers, watched their every move. Then there was the Dowager who towered over it all. It was the hand that take, demand and gouged, it was also the fist that governed, judged and punished.

Just as Nike got to the head of the queue, Scars appeared, munching on a stick of grilled meat. Her stomach growled in protest. Putting her thieving skills to good use, she snagged the stick out of his hand.

"Hey!" he protested.

It was too late, she ripped the meat off the stick. The juices of the marinated meat was an explosion of ecstasy in her mouth. Her tastebuds sang its praises to the high heavens. Having subsisted on a steady diet of stale bread ends and whatever she could get her hands, this was her first real experience with hot and delicious food. "It's so good!" she gasped through a full mouth.

An attendant dressed in a black and white suit beckoned at them. Scars used her shirt sleeve to wipe her mouth clean of sauce before straightening her clothes again. "Come on."

* * *

There were rows and rows of virtual machines where people sat at. They looked more like drones than human. They stabbed mindlessly at the machines as they feed credit chit after credit chit in. Nike's eyes watered. There was a heavy cloud of cigarette smoke hanging in the air. Even Scars waved his hand to clear the air before him.

Past the rows of virtual machines was a large stage. Atop it danced a mix of virtual and real dancers. Patrons only had eyes for the dancers of their choice. There, people were dressed slightly better. Nike spotted the lady in the gold strands dress strutting across the stage.

 _She is a dancer!_

She spun on her stiletto heels to the front of the stage while patrons cheered and clapped. In an display of pure nimbleness, she folded herself in two by bending at the waist. Hints of skin tantalised the crowd, her dress swished in time with her motion. One white gloved hand stroked the cheek of a front row patron. It was the woman the dancer was with earlier. The patron grinned and flicked a credit chit between two fingers in her direction. The dancer took it and straightened. She caught Nike's eye and sent a wink her way.

Scars straightened his spine. He smoothed his hair back and attempted to shape the sorry excuse he had for a beard. "She is not winking at you, you know?" Nike pointed out.

Scars' eyebrows rose as he looked at the dancer. He pointed at himself. The dancer wagged her finger and pointed at Nike. He looked at Nike incredulously as she grinned at him. Nike blew kisses at the dancer as Scars dragged her away, her duffle bag bumping into the chairs of the patrons.

They skirted the outer perimeter of the stage to head towards the back. A pair of guards glared at them as they stopped outside an elevator. "You again?" one of them said, he was wearing a dinged up blue armour with a triangular logo on it.

Nike lifted her omni-tool and scanned it. "System Alliance logo," it told her.

"Yes, we have a new member. Don't mind her. She is a little slow. I'm taking her to the Dowager," Scars replied. "Formalities."

The one in the blue armour cocked his head in her direction. "Aren't you a little young to be in the Reds? I didn't figure Frank to be one who would pick up strays."

"I am old enough," she declared. "You don't want me to punch you."

"Ohh I'm so fucking scared," he mocked in a deadpan voice.

"Stop messing about," the other said, she rolled her eyes at her partner. "Always important, those formalities if you want to keep your head. She's at the fighting ring today."

"Thanks," Scars said as he tapped the button to call for the elevator.

When elevator door opened at a lower level, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Nike dropped her bag and clapped her hands over her ears. A pair of fighters, one male and the other female, clad in tight shorts and a pair of sports bra in the case of the female, circled each other. Spectators cheered, some waved credit chits in the direction of the bookie, others raising their fists as they cheered the fighters on. The pair prowled the edge of the ring, eyeing each other like they were prey. Nike could almost imagine their tails slashing the air as they bounced on the balls of their feet. A shimmering wall of energy was all that separated the pair.

Scars tugged at her arm, but Nike refused to move. She wanted to see this. Her eyes were glued on the fighters. The boy was no older than she was and already fighting in the ring. What stood out to her were his brilliantly blue eyes and a patch of scarred skin across his chest and up his left shoulder. She frowned as something tickled at the back of her mind. The fighters as if by an unseen signal both looked upwards. An Asian lady with black hair and fair skin looked down, her blood red lips parted to show her teeth. "Don't disappoint me," she said.

Even though she didn't raise her voice, but her voice floated above the din. The boy nodded. Both of them bowed once towards the lady and then at their opponent. The barrier fizzled out and they launched themselves at each other. Blue flames writhed across their bodies. Nike gasped. She had never seen anyone else use the blue flames before. She was so sure she was the only one out there.

 _Turns out I'm no special snowflake._

The fight was a blend of physical blows and the blue flame. The fighters used it in ways she never dreamt before. The power behind each punch and kick magnified. She looked at her hands, slowly clenching and unclenching them.

 _If I could fight like that, I don't have to be afraid anymore. I can defend myself._

Time seemed to stretched as Nike stood and watched. Spit, blood and teeth flew. Howls of pain and grunts of exertion rang out over the bloodthirsty crowd. The finishing blow came unexpectedly as the female fighter launched herself head first at the other. She was a streak of blue as they collided. The pair slammed to the ground, unmoving. For a split second the audience was hushed. Then a hand was rose high in the air. And the female fighter stood. Cheers erupted, it was so loud it threatened to bring the roof down.

Nike grinned. A shiver ran down her spine. She felt a little lightheaded, a little giddy. It was almost as if they were cheering for _her_. The warrior stood bruised and bloodied, one eye swollen shut, with a grin as wide as her face. As people swarmed into the arena to hoist her up in victory, others dragged the unconscious boy out.

Scars grimaced and said, "And another one bites the dust. That's going to put the Dowager in a bad mood."

This time when he pulled her arm, Nike followed. He led them to a stairs leading upstairs. There were another pair of guards, more heavily armed than the pair before. There was no idle chit chat. Scars shuffled on his feet as they ran their omni-tool scanner over them. One of them nodded at Scars and said, "Leave the bag here. You can pick it up on your way out."

"Yes, sir," he replied stiffly. "Come on."

Scars pulled the duffle bag out of her grip and tossed it next to one of the guards. The guard eyed the bag and kicked it to the side. "Hey!" Nike said.

That was no way to treat her stuff. It belonged to her. _I finally have stuff!_ She was about to grab the bag protectively, but Scars wrapped his hand on her bandaged wrist and shook it. Nike yelped and kept still. "Don't do that," he whispered urgently into his ear. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

With tears in her eyes, she glared at Scars. Her wrist throbbed painfully. "Just shut up and follow my lead. You don't want to get killed right?"

Scar's voice shook a little and it sobered her right up. She gritted her teeth and spat, "Whatever."

He jerked his head towards the stairs and she started up it, pulling her wrist against her chest. At the top, there were another pair of guards who scanned them again. Finding nothing unusual, one of the guards tapped on his omni-tool. "Two coming in to see the Dowager," he said.

Nike glanced at Scars, he was standing perfectly still. She snorted and turned her attention to the small waiting room they were in. There was a steel door complete with a holo-lock on it. Everywhere else in the Underbelly looked no different from the Slums. Old styled doors with regular door knobs and padlocks, concrete and bricks as building materials but it was different here.

Nike's shoes sank into the plush carpet that covered the floor. One of the guards swung his rifle over to her as she bent to touch it. Scars took a deep breath and practically begged, "Don't do that, please."

She straightened and shuffled closer to Scars. "They are not very nice."

The guard snorted while the other spoke into his omni-tool, "Yeah, they are from the Reds."

Nike eyed the holo-lock curiously and was tempted to scan it, but she refrained, if nothing else to keep Scars from having a heart attack. The guard pressed his hand against the holo-lock and the door cycled through its sequence.

Nike was sure she had seen it all. The Underbelly had been an eye-opening experience so far, there couldn't be anything more it could possibly offer, right? As the reinforced door slid open, Nike's jaw fell open. The plush carpet continued inside. On one side a single armchair was positioned just so to have a perfect view of the arena. This was where the Asian lady looked out from before. The glass that was clear earlier, was now tinted and frosted.

"Approach," a husky voice called.

Nike glanced at Scars, suddenly apprehensive. He nodded, nudging her to walk ahead. At the far end of the room, there was a luxury leather sofa. On one end was an array of terminals, on the other end of the almost two metre long sofa perched the Asian lady - the Dowager. Her finger curled towards Nike a couple of times.

"Ma'am," Scars started.

The Dowager sliced the air with her hand in a chopping motion and he shut his month. "Girl, approach," she said.

Nike gulped and stepped forward. She shivered as she stood alone. Eyes dark and hard raked over her. The Dowager lifted her hand and catch Nike's chin in her grasp. Her eyes flashed at Nike as she attempted to pull away. Taking a deep breath, she kept herself still, allowing the Dowager to tilt her head left and right.

"You have interesting eyes," the Dowager commented eventually. "Is it green? Is it yellow? It seemed to change colour depending on the light and angle."

Nike bit her lip to keep from saying something unfortunate. Scars' fear was seeping into her brain finally.

"What's your name?"

"Nike."

"Hmm," the Dowager cocked her head. "The greek goddess of victory? I hope it is a name you'd live up to, girl."

She couldn't help but bristled. _I'm grown. I take care of myself. I am not a child._

The Dowager snorted, reading the defiance in her eyes. She turned her attention to Scars. "Is she your new member?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Frank knows his tithe will be going up with each new member he takes in?"

"Yes ma'am."

The Dowager shrugged. "As long as he knows the rules, I have no problem. I'll add her name to the roster. What does Frank intend for her?"

Scars shook his head. "I don't know, ma'am."

She sighed. "Frank should really get better help. You're next to useless."

Nike glanced at Scars expecting him to protest, but he was quiet and still. "All right, formalities are done. Go."

"Thank you, ma'am." Scars bowed and turned to go.

Nike followed his lead and bowed as well, "Thank you, ma'am."

"Call me Cixi," the Dowager said. "I'll be keeping my eye on you."


	6. Reds' Little Collector

Chapter 6 - Reds' Little Collector

 **WARNING FOR CHILD DOING VIOLENCE, MINOR CHILD DEATH, GROOMING, NIGHTMARE, FIRE, BURNING BUILDING.**

Fire, everywhere. Sweat plastered hair to her brow. Her chest hurt where the fire had licked across it. High pitched cries of desperation and tiny hands thumping against locked doors ran counterpoint to the crackling inferno. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Her stomach growled. It reminded her the one time she had barbecued meat. Her mouth watered at the memory.

She coughed. The air here was thick with a strange white dust, it made her feel lightheaded but energised at the same time. A couple of kids made the same climb from one window to the other via the outside ledge. After the boy fell, not many attempted the same walk.

Another beam fell with a crash, the others whimpered and flinched. All of them were beyond screams, they were all tired and scared. She recognised the hallway, there was a flight of stairs that to the ground floor here. Hope flared. They had a chance to get out.

 _Where are all the teachers?_

Glancing behind her, two pairs of scared eyes stared back. One of them spoke a name, but a high whine rang in her ears. She winced and shook her head, the pain lingered. A frown creased her brow as stray knowledge popped into her head. The boy, she remembered. His name was Thomas. His hair, used to be a blonde so light it was almost white. It was now all dark and grey thanks to the soot. The girl with curly ginger hair and fair skin had tears streaking down her face. "I want to get out of here," she wailed.

She frowned. The girl's name was a vague memory tickling at the back of her mind. "Emma?" she coughed.

Emma ignored her. She watched helplessly as the girl cried harder. Frustration and impatience made her turn away, she had no time to be coddling little girls. Instead, she looked around. Flames danced across her chartreuse eyes, making them seemed more yellow than usual. The familiar had turned unfamiliar as the conflagration threatened to seal off all their escape routes.

"There!" Thomas yelled, pointing at the stairs through the smoke.

He didn't wait. Legs bounded towards the stairs and the girls followed. Pain and fear forgotten as salvation awaited. Short legs took the steps down fast, two at a time. Lungs heaving, taking in more and more of the strange white dust. All of them coughed harder, but it didn't deter them. There was fresh air wafting up the stairs.

Then, an audible groan.

She froze while the other two ran ahead. The wooden stairs worn down by years of kids running up and down it felt hot under her bare feet. Before she could voice her worries, the stairs groaned again, louder this time. It shuddered under their frantic pounding feet.

"No!" she shouted.

Emma plunged feet first through the stairs. She screamed, her freckles stark against her pale skin. Her fingers digging and scrambling against the wood as she tried to find the slightest bit of grip. Her nails left bloody gorges in the wood, but it barely slowed her slide down the hole. Her arms splayed straight out were the only reason she hadn't fell through completely.

"Help!" she cried.

The fire had reached the lower level and it was licking the stairs from the bottom, weakening it. She didn't know how much more the stairs could take. Emma shrieked in pain while she stood rooted to her spot, frozen in indecision.

Thomas didn't hesitate. A step forward, he flung his hand out, reaching towards Emma. Their finger tips brushing but not finding purchase. Then, a crack. She watched as Thomas' foot plunged through the step. He tipped forward, his balance foiled. All apprehension cast aside, one hand wrapped around the bannister, the other reaching towards Thomas. She caught his arm. Her grip was firm and solid around his wrist.

"Please help me," Emma whimpered. "It hurts!"

Thomas' fingers flexed, inching its way towards Emma's white knuckled ones. "I'm so close!" he yelled. "I can get her, just a little further!"

"It's too dangerous! The stairs can't take much more," she cried, her arms burning with the strain. "And my arm isn't just going to get longer!"

Thomas turned to Emma. "You've got to reach up to me," he implored. "You can do it!"

Emma cried as she tried to push herself up but her elbows trembled from the mere effort of keeping herself up. With tears cutting streaks down her soot stained face she pushed herself up only to slide further down, her arms barely managing to catch herself in time. "I can't, I can't. I can't do it."

"Emma, you can do this. One quick move!" Thomas shouted, unwilling to give up.

Emma looked at Thomas and herself. With a grunt, she tried again. Her face red from the effort, her arms trembled. Emma had her arms straightened, her weight braced against them. Now all she needed to do was to push herself towards Thomas and take his arm. Her legs kicked against air and her body jerked forward.

Thomas grunted as he reached out, straining their linked hands. It was going to work, it had to. Emma's eyes met hers. Hope and relief just less than an inch away. The tips of their fingers caught. They intertwined for a split second. Then, Emma slipped. Her hands were sleek with perspiration. She had no grip or strength left. Gravity was a harsh mistress. Without even time to scream, Emma's fingers slipped through Thomas'.

And, she was gone.

But it wasn't the end. It wasn't the clean end of a thump like the boy who fell from the ledge. Emma's screams went on relentlessly. She begged and begged for help that wouldn't come.

Thomas and herself froze in their position of safety. She wished she could clap her hands over her ears. This was hell. Her breath was caught in her throat. Emma's high pitched screams changed in its timbre, it grew husky and then hoarse and finally weaker.

It lasted for an eternity.

Thomas' eyes wide and stricken caught hers. Her lips trembled as cold sweat broke out across her back despite the heat. The stairs groaned again, this time the hole Emma had fell through widened as more of the stairs were lost to the flames below.

"Come on!" she yelled, finally breaking out of her shock.

Her arms felt like they were going to come off her shoulders as she pulled Thomas back to safety. He worked his foot back and forth, widening the hole so that he could work his foot free. Splinters stabbed at his ankle and the motion rubbed his skin raw, but he kept at it, hissing and wincing all through it. With a final grunt of effort, his foot came free and they scrambled back the way they came. The pair were tired, breathless and more scared than they had ever had been.

Thomas glanced around, anxiety rolling off him in waves. she had no time to sit and be helpless but smoke and flames had made her disoriented.

"Come on," she said, tugging at Thomas' arm. "We can't stay here."

The white dust was thicker here. With a hand covering her nose and mouth, she did the only thing she knew to. She picked the direction where it was cooler and walked. Thomas followed closely behind.

She racked her brains as they walked. She had explored much of the home, even the forbidden teacher's level, via the air ducts. They had only one more level to descend. Just one more and they'll be safe and out of this burning inferno that their home had transformed into. She spun around, scanning their surroundings as recognition hit her like a ton of bricks.

"I know a way out," she shouted, excited. "Come on!"

Breathlessly she led the way, tugging Thomas along. She didn't stopped at the junction, she picked the left branch without hesitation. It led to the teachers' sleeping quarters. And they had a laundry chute that led to the basement. But between them and their escape was more fire. This time hotter than it had ever been before.

Already, she found the floor boards too hot for comfort. It was like standing out on hot tiles in the middle of the afternoon. She fought the urge to dance on the spot as she concentrated on the hallway. Parts of it had already fallen through. Exposed beams with fire licking up them. It was the only way to cross. But it wasn't a long way to run. It was just a hop, skip and a jump away, she tried to convince herself. One hand over her nose and mouth as she tried to breathe through the smoke and dust, the other tightly laced in Thomas'

"Not there," he whimpered.

Her jaw clenched, her heart slammed against her chest as she said, "This is the only way I know."

"I can't!" he yelled, pointing at his ankle. It was raw and throbbing. He had left a small red trail of bloody footsteps. "I don't want to die."

"It is the only way!" she repeated, as if yelling louder would convince him.

He shook his head, baulking at the prospect of heading into fire again. His breathing was coming in quick and shallow.

"Yes," she insisted and dragged him along.

She intended to rush through the hallway as quickly as she could but Thomas' ankle hindered their progress. Frown set between her brow, her jaw tightened, she was determined that they'd both get through this. Her grip on Thomas was the only thing that kept her from flying apart herself.

Heat and fire assaulted from all sides. The narrow beam merely one metre long, but it might as well had been a chasm. Thomas weeped and hobbled, his grip white knuckled tight around hers. "We're going to do this fast," she instructed, "Just follow my lead."

He nodded tightly, cringing away from the fire. She took the first step forward, the beam groaned but held. Her bare feet unbearably painful as she shuffled. Then, Thomas yelped. One moment she was balancing precariously two feet on a hot beam, the next she was clinging onto it by her fingertips.

Their eyes met for a second before her grip failed her. She plunged to the flames below with a scream.

* * *

Nike cried out as she sat up.

"Shut up!" Cutter groaned from the side and he turned over. He pulled the flap of the sleeping bag over his head.

She ignored him as she took breath after shuddering breath. Pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes, Nike attempted to push the dream away.

 _I fucking hate these nightmares._

She wriggled out of the sleeping bag and rubbed her arms to fend off the morning chill. Everyone else was still asleep. Nike envied Cutter's ability to fall back to sleep so easily. She sat still for a bit before her growling stomach forced her to seek sustenance.

Nike started the day how she usually would. With a little smile on her face, she grabbed her towel and headed to the shower. She much preferred using the showers while the boys weren't around. It wasn't showing her naked body that bothered her but the leering looks she was starting to get from them that made her uncomfortable with her body. It was a new thing that started recently.

 _I don't think anything has really changed._

She ran the soap over her body, poking slightly at the blobs she was starting to develop on her chest. They were wisps of hair growing between her legs and under her arms. She didn't think much of them. If it didn't hurt, she didn't think there was any cause for concern.

Nike towelled off and pulled on a fresh set of clothes. Even after being with the Reds for a few months, she never stopped marvelling at having clean clothes to wear every few days. _Sure, washing them is a pain but clean clothes!_ The feel of cotton over skin was luxurious especially when they fit. Her unruly black hair was getting a little long, she pushed them out of her face but they flopped over her face again. She growled as she tied them back in a messy ponytail.

She headed back to the sleeping quarters. Everyone else were still snoring away. She pulled on her omni-tool, made sure her little blade Cutter gave her was secure in her red high top sneakers before she left.

Instead of taking the long way around to the main gate, she hoped over the fence with a quick leg up using a crate pushed right against it for that purpose. The morning air was crisp. It had rained the night before. The scent reminded her the white dust in her dream. She took a huge lungful and smiled.

"Today is a good day," she said.

Nike turned towards the outer edges of the Slums. It was her job to do the rounds, collecting protection money owed to the Reds. She didn't give it much thought. It was a job and she would do it. After all, Frank put food in her belly and provided her a place to sleep. Being part of the Reds was the first time Nike felt like she belonged. The tiny voice that warned her not to trust them had been quiet, lulled into silence when her needs were met consistently. As irritating Scars could be, he looked out for her. Cutter taught her blade work while Tenner taught her basic mathematics. They might be mean bastards with their words, but their actions told her, she was one of them.

Nike tapped at her omni-tool and brought up the latest list of scans she had made. She cycled through them, reading the words out loud, committing the meaning and the way things were spelt to her memory. She enjoyed learning. New words no longer frustrated her. They were a chance for her to scan and learn new things. The omni-tool had been her single favourite part about joining the Reds.

Her legs took her down the familiar street. The alleys no longer scary because these were places she would hang out if Frank didn't need her. Small time gang members no longer gave her problems after they saw her with the others.

She had scanned most of the interesting bits along the route and once she ran through her words for the day, she was bored. With nothing else better to occupy her time, Nike pulled up some music on her omni-tool. With a tap, she put the music on shuffle. A ukulele started strumming, and a fun little tune started playing.

 _Today there is nothing stopping me_

Nike grinned and skipped along to the beat. She had to admit she enjoyed the songs Scars had packed her omni-tool with.

 _There're not red lights on the street_

With head bobbing, she waited at the street corner. She made it a point to stop by the same time every day. She whistled. A brown and white mongrel with one floppy ear and one pointy ear popped his head out of some cardboard boxes. His tongue hanging out in a smile. "There you are, Burger!" she called.

 _Open highways there is no limits to my speed_

Nike was overjoyed when she found him again. So happy she make sure to name him properly this time. He was no longer merely Dog but Burger, named after her second favourite poster.

She was sure, she had lost him for good that day when he took off after Frank and the others came upon her. He might have returned to her little hovel but she wasn't allowed out from the base to return and check. It was completely by accident she found Burger again. And she was glad to have done so.

 _Come and ride with me_

He trotted up to her and waited patiently. She dug into her pocket and tossed him the scraps she saved for him from the night before. His strong teeth made short work of the bones. Nike ruffled his fur and gave the dog a firm pat on the rump. He looked up at her. She shook her head at him. "That's all I have got," she said, "if you want more, you got to come with me."

Burger barked. "All right," she laughed, "Let's go. But I got to work first."

* * *

By the time she done with her stops, she had broken out in a sweat. The crisp morning air was replaced by balmy heat as the sun started to bake the concrete again. Burger always accompanied her on her runs. He would wander off, licking at anything and everything he could get his snout into, but he'd always come back when she was ready to move on.

"It's that time again," Nike called as she stood with a hip cocked facing the next stall.

Davis glared at her from inside his shop. His hand curling into a fist. Burger sniffed blithely at his wares. Nike kept her eye on Davis. She never make the same mistake twice. "You don't want to do that, you know what happened to your neighbour the last time he threatened me," she pointed out, fishing out the blade from her shoe.

Burger's head perked up, picking up on the tension in the air. He growled at Davis as he flanked her. She flicked her blade open and smirked as the man flinched. Cutter had taught her and she always learnt her lessons well.

* * *

"You're small, short and light, that's three major disadvantages," Cutter said as he tightened the zip-ties holding the man to the chair.

The man moaned through his gag, rocking the chair back and forth. "Shut up," he backhanded the captive.

Nike watched closely. "Now you can't do that since you lacked the muscles and the mass," he went on as if uninterrupted. ''So you'd have to hit first, hit hard. Make sure it is bloody, make sure it is flashy. You'd only have to do it once and it is usually enough for most."

She nodded. This wasn't her first lesson. It had ceased to bother her, the sights, sounds or smell. "Now see this," he said, pointing out some spots on the captive. "Avoid those if all you want is to give a little lesson. Go for them if you want the lesson to be permanent."

Cutter handed her a blade similar to his, albeit sized for her hand. "This is small enough for your hands, we can upgrade it as you get bigger."

The man's eyes widened, he struggled with renewed effort. Cutter grinned at the captive as he showed her how to open the blade single-handedly in a safe manner. Nike pulled down on the lock between her thumb and index finger and swung outwards. Letting it go of the lock at the right moment to lock the blade in place. She looked up at Cutter for approval.

He nodded, raising an eyebrow. "You're a natural."

She grinned, repeating the motion over and over again.

"Next is actually using it."

She looked at the blade then at Cutter. A foul smell came the captive as golden liquid soaked through his pants and dripped to the floor. She backed away, disgust curling her lips. Cutter laughed. "Look at him! All scared of a little girl."

"I'm grown, Cutter! I am not a little girl!" she scowled, brandishing the blade at Cutter.

He grunted and tugged the blade out of her grip. "Never point the blade at someone and not be willing to follow through. A drawn blade is a promise, it is a threat. You do not threaten someone you're not willing use the blade on," he growled, gesturing at the wild-eyed captive. "Now let's see how grown you are."

Nike eyed the blade then at the captive. "Stick him," Cutter said.

She took a deep breath and plunged the blade into the captive's thigh. She let go when the captive tried to jerk away. She stared. The blade was sticking out of his pants. It looked almost comical and unreal if it wasn't for blood oozing from the wound.

"Deeper."

Nike looked at Cutter, eyes now as wide as the captive's.

"Deeper!" Cutter repeated.

She let out a cry and pushed.

Nike remembered the feeling of steel sliding into flesh, how she needed her entire body weight to sink the blade down to its hilt. The captive's screams grew louder and more high pitched as the red patch on his pants grew wider and wider. Nike couldn't quite get her fingers to let go. Her hands felt stuck to the handle.

Cutter laughed, "You have got guts girl!"

He slapped her on the back, the motion jarred her fingers from the blade. She stared at it, midway between horrified and proud. "I did good?" she gasped apprehensively.

Her only answer was an approving grin.

Lyrics taken from Lucky Day by Dustin Paul


	7. Full Fledged Member

Chapter 7 - Full Fledged Member

 **WARNING: MURDER, VIOLENCE, MURDER COMMITTED BY CHILD, CHILD DEATH, HUMAN ORGAN HARVEST**

Nike put her lessons to good use and she never had to use her blade often. With credit chits secured in her pocket, she strutted down the street munching on a steamed bun. The meat filling was salty and peppery, just the way she loved it. Burger trotted alongside her hopefully. He whined and she looked down. The mutt was good with using his big brown puppy dog eyes on her. She chuckled. With two fingers, she tore off a generous chunk and tossed it to him. His mouth stretched wide and snatched it out of the air.

"Good boy!" she laughed, licking her fingers clean of the juices and wiping them down the leg of her shorts.

"Girly!" a raspy voice said. "You're back."

The familiar voice jarred her from her good mood. Nike cast her eye around and saw him. The grin slid off her face. Burger pressed against her leg, sensing her shift in mood.

Miller was sitting in his chair as usual. The brown crude tourniquet stark against the almost corpse like grey of his skin. It was barely midday and he was at it already. Nike's jaw was set, she remembered how he had scared her that first time. But she was different now, she was a new person. Months of food had filled her frame out, training made her sure in her stance.

He turned his attention back to what he was doing, ignoring her for the moment. His finger tapped against the filled syringe. It was the same red-pinkish stuff. Nike knew what it was. Multiple trips to the Underbelly had acquainted her well with it. Her mouth twisted as Miller plunged the needle into his arm. He sighed with contentment as he undid the tourniquet.

 _Just another Red Sand addict in a city filled with them._

Nike narrowed her eyes and tried her best to put up a veneer of disdain. She gave him a wide berth. Burger walked between her and the road as she made her way to her next stop, putting her nearer to Miller.

"Don't be like that girly," he said, putting his rotting teeth on full display.

His hand shot out just like it did the first time. Nike was ready. She wasn't the scared little girl anymore. There was no hesitation. One quick motion, she bent and pulled her little blade out. One quick flick and it was deployed. She wasn't tall, but she didn't need to be to reach him, he was seated. Before he could regret his action, Nike stepped into his space and slid the blade between his ribs. It was textbook, exactly how Cutter showed her. This was a lesson he needed to learn once and for all.

Miller gasped, his grip on her hand loosened. His eyes were wide and wild, but he had a grin plastered on his face. His eyes rolled backwards into his head as he started laughing. The edges of his mouth just stretched and stretched. It went so wide she was afraid it might split his face. She shuddered, a chill sank in her bones as she pulled her hand free. She wiped the steel against the leg of her pants but kept a tight grip on it. The red patch against his chest grew, but he didn't seem to care. It was like he didn't feel a thing.

A hard tug against her shorts broke the spell. Burger growled and pulled again. "Right," she said shakily, "Good boy."

At Burger's insistence she walked away. His grin seared into the back of her eyelids.

* * *

Nike hated the way Miller's face was dogging her the entire day. She needed something to take her mind off it. And she knew just the thing. Her feet took her to her favourite place.

The building was old but well maintained especially for the Slums. A giant billboard dominated the exterior. Curling discoloured posters from years past stood proudly in their display cases. These were real antiques, most of switched out to electronic display panels years ago. Real paper posters like these were rare.

Nike looked at them, these she had scanned and learnt their names a long time ago. She ran her hand over the clean cases, reading the titles she had committed to memory. "Die Hard, Love Actually, Aliens," she read out loud.

She was still inordinately proud to have learnt the words. Her foot steps echoed with Burger's nails a close second behind as they entered. The tiled floor was worn but clean. The place smelt entirely of fresh popcorn. She smiled. Meg must have done a fresh batch. That only meant one thing, Love Actually was on.

She climbed the defunct escalator up to the second level. One of the massive doors was slightly ajar. Through the slim slice of light into the darkened interior, Nike could see Meg's outline. The older woman, in all her dreadlock glory, usually would camp outside the theatre, selling tickets to movies so old most wouldn't have heard of them cheaply. It was only when romantic movies played that she watched along.

Nike wasn't one to question how did Meg kept the place going, she just accepted the place as her shelter away from the streets and the boys for what it was. She smiled, remembering Meg's kindness after her first run in with Miller. Even though she had the credits for a ticket, they didn't belong to her. She looked at her omni-tool. There was still time for her to catch whatever was left of the movie.

Muffled dialog drifted out of the darkened theatre as she inched towards it. _Oh it has started!_ Burger ventured ahead, his nose twitching at the wonderful scent of popcorn. As much as she knew Meg wouldn't mind her around, she didn't want to be social right then. Plus she had no credits to actually pay for a ticket. She just wanted some time alone with her thoughts and not talk about what had happened earlier.

Nike bent down and pulled Burger close. "You see that lady there?" she whispered into his upright ear.

Burger snorted softly. "She has popcorn. If you are beg her politely, she will share," she went on.

The dog grunted and started forward. "Wait, wait. You have to let me hide before you go to her."

He grunted and stilled as if understanding her words. "Good boy," she said, releasing her grip on his fur before giving him a good scratch on his chest.

Nike sneaked towards the side, knowing exactly where there was a small staircase that took her directly to the projector room. She peered over the corner back at Burger. Their eyes met and the mutt launched into action. Stealthy feet made their way up the steps. She was ready to pick the lock on the door, but she found it unlocked.

 _That's unusual._

Gingerly, she turned the door knob and peeked inside. It was empty. Nike heaved a sigh of relief and entered. She dragged a chair towards the projector, making sure she didn't accidentally step into the beam and let the cat out of the bag. As she sank into the chair, she smiled a little.

Men and women, young and old, hugging, kissing and falling in love. It reminded her of the Suncorp ads she loved. She hugged herself, drawing her knees to her chest as the theme music soared.

 _One day, I will find something like that._

* * *

Nike made sure to be out of the projector room before Meg came up. Burger didn't wait for her outside but that's normal for him. After all, he had scraps to eat, rubbish to sniff at.

All in all, it was a good day, despite her encounter with Miller. She made her way back to base. Music playing from her omni-tool, her voice clear as she sang along. Her red sneakers kicking a can down the streets all the way home.

"Where have you been?" Scars yelled as soon as she entered the sleeping quarters.

There was a flurry of activity. She ignored his question, instead she asked, "What's going on?"

"Tenner got a lead on a little job we can do," Cutter replied.

Frank entered with a few submachine guns in his hands, handing one to Scars and Cutter each. They looked different from the pistols she was used to seeing on the boys' waistbands. Her eyes widened. "What is this job about?" she asked.

"Here," he said as he turned to her, "This is yours."

He pulled his pistol from his waistband and tossed it in her direction. She caught it without trouble. The pistol though compact in his hand, was large in hers. It weighed heavy with potent. Frank holstered the SMG in its place.

The Reds was a small outfit. They ran a protection racket. The Dowager parcelled out territory to gangs who would pay her tithe. The territory was theirs to do as they please. The larger the gang, the more they have to pay. This helped to keep the gangs from working to overthrow the Dowager, that and the Dowager had muscle, off world muscle to boot, to back her up. Those who earned her favour got prime real estate closer to the Underbelly. The Reds being on the outskirts of the Slums were among the lowest of the low.

"Things are going to change for us tonight," Frank said. The confidence that shone in his eyes had the rest nodding along. Nike couldn't help but grinned.

"Damn right!" Tenner said as he holstered his own SMG, "We had better make some damned credits after buying these."

Frank turned to look at Tenner. Their eyes met. Perhaps she was the only one who saw the dangerous glint in his eyes. It was more than just ambition. There was a hunger there she had only seen the day Frank recruited her. Cutter and Scars were gearing up for whatever they were planning for the night.

"We will," Frank promised.

"What are we doing?" she asked again.

The leader of the Reds grinned. "You will earn your amp and implant."

* * *

"There," Cutter whispered, pointing.

They were clustered in an abandoned building across from the Razors' base. She eyed the others. Cutter had a rare eagerness to his actions, anticipation radiating off his frame as he cradled the beaten SMG like his baby. Tenner was, as usual, busy with his omni-tool, constantly tapping away on it. Scars bit his lip as he paced, the SMG held awkwardly in his hand. Frank beckoned them over as he sketched a rough map on the dusty floor.

"So Cutter, Scars both of you will be our frontal team," he said, pointing at the boys and indicating where they would breach the Razors' base.

"Tenner and I will come in from the rear while they try to escape your onslaught," he said.

All of them nodded like it made sense to them. She looked out the empty window and then back at the crude map. The Razors' base wasn't large, but who knew if they had more people than the Reds did. _Fuck, there are only five of us. I am sure they have double that._

"What about me?" she whispered, not quite wanting to hear the answer.

"You will be our ticket in."

She didn't like the sound of it at all.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, she couldn't help the backward glance where Cutter and Scars were hiding. Her hands feeling the loss of the pistol even though she was completely unfamiliar with how to use it.

 _Why the hell did Frank give it to me if he wasn't going to let me use it?_

Cutter nodded at her while Scars made shooing motions with his pistol. She jerked her head back to the front. Nike took a deep breath and took the first steps towards the Razors' base.

"Just go up there and knock," Frank had instructed.

"It's that simple?" she asked, she couldn't keep the incredulity from her voice.

"They are Snatchers," Tenner said, "they won't hesitate if you go up to their door."

A chill ran down her spine. _Snatchers snatch kids, cut them open, rip them up. All for the bloody bits inside. It's no wonder they are called the Razors._

As she crossed the darkened street, the chill never left her bones. And it wasn't because she was cold. There was a lone light just next to the door Frank had indicated. A low hum came from it as it flickered on and off randomly. Nike stopped before it, sweat beading across her bead in the muggy heat of Singapore. She raised her hand to knock when the door opened on its on accord.

A girl her age was on the other side. Nike blinked. _Now what?_

"Who are you?" the girl asked, her voice slurring. "Where is this?"

Nike frowned as she looked at the girl. She was thin and wearing a loose dress that came up to upper thighs, hardly long enough for her height. It reminded her of how she used to look before having access to regular meals. The girl's eyes were a little glazed over, her gaze unfocused.

"I…errr…" Nike started, but the girl turned and walked away without waiting for her to finish, muttering questions under her breath.

 _Ok, I guess it worked?_

This was highly irregular even for lax security. Nike stifled the overwhelming urge to look back. Instead she entered cautiously, taking care to make sure the door remained ajar.

The front foyer was small and dark. A single light bulb hung above. It swung on its wire, casting dancing shadows across the walls and floor.

Her heart thudded, wishing Burger was with her. She felt braver with him around. Step by step she walked. The girl was shuffling ahead, unsteady in her gait but sure in her path. She led Nike deeper into the home turned base. Old mouldy furniture stacked in haphazard piles in rooms with no doors. Light and ventilation were precious commodity in the Razors' base. Sweat was trickling down her back even though she did nothing but walk into the lion's den.

The girl brought her to a narrow flight of stairs that led downwards. Nike ignored it. Instead, she looked for the back door. She knew the plan. If she could get that unlocked, it would go easier for the others. And she would be able to get out of here quicker. Her skin crawled like a million insects lived under her skin.

The girl went down the stairs without a backwards glance. Nike decided it was safe enough to break away. Hunched, she slung away just in the nick of time. A voice harsh and gruff called out from the bottom of the narrow stairway.

"Hey, one of your girls is loose again!" the voice said, "what did I say about letting one of your experiments loose?"

"I was just trying to get the dosage right," another voice called, that one muffled.

"Get her secured. We have quite a few deliveries to make tonight," the first voice said, "I'm going to make sure she hadn't left the door open again."

Nike slipped into the nearest room without thinking. She pressed herself against the wall, praying it was dark enough to keep her hidden. There wasn't a door to put between her and discovery. She held her breath as the boots stomped past.

Her mouth went dry, her palm sleek with sweat. There was no time to think, the plan was rapidly falling apart. She had only two choices, go after the man and make sure the front door stayed open somehow or search for the back door and hope Frank wouldn't kill her for deviating from the plan.

She ground her teeth together, her heart threw itself against her ribs as seconds ticked by. Frank didn't assign her to the back door, her job was the front door so that Scars and Cutter could distract the Razors. Nike took a shuddering breath and pulled her blade free from her shoe.

The trip into the base wasn't long, but sneaking behind the man felt like an eternity. The man was burly and tall, bigger than Cutter and older than Frank. His mop of long oily hair hung loose. His footsteps heavy as he clomped down the darkened hallway with boots unlaced. Nike pressed her back against the wall, praying she wouldn't step on any creaking floor board.

"What the fuck!" the man exclaimed when he got to the foyer. "Your girl left the door open again!"

She had hoped Scars and Cutter were already there to deal with the problem, but no such luck. Her blade felt too small in her hand as she tightened her grip around it. She had to do something but what?

The man's back was facing her. There was only the darkened hallway between them. Once through there was nowhere to hide. If she wanted to act, this was the time. His thick muscled hand reached out towards the door. Throwing caution to the wind, she did the first thing she could think of.

She ran.

Her blade led the way. Her shoes stomped on the floor broads, they groaned in protest. The man turned as she leapt. His eyes bulged, his mouth gasped open and Nike slammed the blade into his half-turned back. The blade acted like an ice axe, biting into his flesh. He roared. Using it as a hand hold, she pulled herself up, scaling the man like a mountain. One hand tugging on his hair to maintain her grip as she sat on his shoulders. Her thighs clamped around his neck.

"Who the fuck are you?" he roared.

Her head connected with the swinging bulb with a solid thud. It made the orderly shadows launched into a dance. Eye-searing brightness alternated with the deepest of darkness as the bulb swung. She squeezed her eyes shut but it was too late. Her night vision was shot. The after image of the bulb throbbed behind her eyelids. Back and forth the bulb swung, hitting her at times, tangling her up with the wire at others.

Nike didn't bother answering. She was busy trying to keep her seat. His hands scratched and pulled, trying to dislodge her. The blade was stuck, pulling at it with one hand wasn't doing the job. It was her only weapon and she loathed to let go of it.

The man twisted violently and she slipped. A pair of hands gripped her ankles and yanked. One moment she was seated atop high, the next she crashed onto the floor. Air rushed out of her lungs in a whoosh. She scrambled to her feet. Panic and fear making her move faster than she thought possible.

 _My blade!_

It was still sticking out of the man's back. It was hard for him to reach so he ignored it. His lips curled into a snarl, his eyes promised death. Nike lunged towards it only to be met with a foot against her torso. She fell again, winded and sore.

"I don't know who are you but you attempted to steal from the wrong house, girl!"

He bent and pulled her up roughly by her arm. She screamed. Gunfire exploded over her head. Something wet and warm splattered against her face and chest. The man groaned as Nike yelped. The grip on her arm loosened as he doubled over.

A familiar pair of laughter rang out from behind her. "That was a rush!" Scars crowed.

Cutter snorted in agreement. The alarm was raised. The element of surprise was lost. There was no time to lose. Both of them entered the base, splitting up at the narrow flight of stairs, leaving her standing alone at the foyer. The bulb was still swung. She stood in the light, then shadow and light again. The growing puddle of blood reached her shoes as she stared at it.

Nike felt jittery as tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn't explain why she felt like crying. She survived, she won, She shouldn't be crying. Angrily, she blinked the tears away and looked for her blade. The handle of the blade was still protruding from the man's back. Her hands trembled as she tried to retrieve it. The man groaned. Nike flinched.

 _He's not dead. Why isn't he dead?_

Fear fuelled her limbs. Planting one foot against his man, Nike pulled with both hands. Ignoring his groans, ignoring his batting hands that couldn't quite reached her, ignoring the hammering heart that threatened to jump out of her mouth, she tugged and yanked. When the blade came free, she stumbled backwards and fell.

This was different. There was no Cutter ready with an approving smile, telling her she did right. This was just a pure raw need to defend herself. Her throbbing torso reminded her what a single kick did.

The man groaned and turned onto his back. The scent of iron filled her nose. With wide-eyed horror Nike watched as the man levered himself in a sitting position. Blood pouring from two distinct holes on his chest.

"Stay away!" she shouted as she held the blade out in front of her

Gunfire rang out from the direction Cutter and Scars went. She jerked violently at the noise, her blade pointed haphazardly at the perceived sources. The man grunted with effort as he stood. Their eyes met as he bared his teeth. Dread stiffened her body as her grip tightened on the little blade.

Knuckles white, eyes wild, she attacked.

With the blade held straight out in front of her, Nike rushed at the man. The blood foiled her. She slipped. Her chin struck the floor so hard she bit her tongue. His foot caught her stomach. She winced and coughed as she fought to gain her feet. But his kick wasn't as powerful as before. Teeth gritting, blade firmly in hand, she scurried around to his back. He, made slow by his wounds, couldn't keep up.

Without hesitation, Nike launched herself onto his back again. She rode him like a wild bucking horse. One arm around his neck, the other attempting to stab the blade downwards. She was past caring where she swung the pointy end as long as it found flesh. His hands frantic as he yanked on her hair. His efforts only made her more determined.

He gasped when the sharp end finally found purchase. Every inch she dragged her blade, from right to left, brought forth more warm, thick liquid. It coated her arm and made it hard to hang on. The man shuddered as she slipped onto the floor. He fell to his knees, his arms slack by his sides.

Nike panted as he slumped face down. Adrenaline felt her shaky and jumpy. Boots thumped loud down towards her. She jerked over, the blade held in a death grip.

"Woah," Scars said. "Look at you."

Relief washed over her, she was crying in earnest now. Hastily she dashed them away, smearing the blood all over her face. Scars raised his eyebrows at her. "You took down the guy?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice quivering as she forced her arms to relax.

"Well, we've softened him up for you anyway but you got your first kill," he said. "Come on, let's go see how the others are doing."

* * *

Nike walked through the basement. There were cages, all of them small and squat, lining the room. Wire mesh so fine she could only fit her fingers through the holes. The bottom of the cages were all stained brown and yellow, and how they stank. Gagging, she tried to hold her breath. The cages stood empty and waiting, claws sheathed and hidden.

It set her teeth on the edge as she turned resolutely towards the curtained-off area. Cutter emerged from behind the plastic sheets that hung from the ceiling. "What happened to you!" he exclaimed when he saw her.

Her entire front was coated with blood. It was drying and rapidly turning sticky. "She finished the big guy up there," Scars answered.

Cutter grinned. As he walked past her, he clapped her on her back. "Good job! But you got a good teacher," he shrugged.

Nike nodded, allowing a small sense of pride to ease the numbness in her chest. She pushed forward through the plastic sheets and froze. There, lying on a metal table, was a body. The harsh bright light seared the image into her brain. The girl she had seen earlier was lying on it, naked. There was no doubt she was dead. Her ribs were splayed open like tiny stunted wings made of white bone. Blood flowing down the drain built right into the table.

Nike's guts clenched as she rounded the table. Red pieces of meat floated in stasis boxes. Frank was there with Tenner. "You're sure you can get a good price for these?" he asked, his hand gesturing at the stasis boxes.

"Leave it to me," Tenner replied. "I'll need make some calls."

"Get it done," Frank said.

She took a shuddering breath, as heat bubbled up form her guts. Her jaw tightened as her fists clenched. Nike was angry.

 _This isn't right. We are not organ farms to be harvested from._

"What happened?" she asked.

Frank turned and saw Nike. His eyes held the same hunger though it was somewhat abated. "We caught them with their pants down, it was a skeleton crew here today," he said, "Tenner's information had been good."

She nodded, eyes lingering on the morbid scene before her. The plastic sheets ruffled behind her. "Holy fuck," Scars exclaimed as he gagged.

Frank ignored the younger man and stepped over the dead Razor. His boots squelched in response. "You had your first kill?" he asked.

Nike nodded, a low grade anger burning in her chest. He smeared the blood across her face.

"And now you're a fully fledged member of the Reds."

Nike grinned, the numbness replaced by a burning anger at the people who had done this.


	8. Baby's First Implant

Chapter 8 - Baby's First Implant

 **WARNING: SURGERY ON CHILD**

"You got the stuff?" Frank asked.

"Yes, yes," Stitches groused. "Only the best your credits can buy."

"This is not going to get any blow back from the Dowager, right?"

"Yes, I've made sure to deal with people outside of our little jungle," the doctor said. "When have I ever failed you?"

Frank stiffened at the retort. His legs shuffled. Stitches glanced at Frank's groin uncomfortably for a moment as the younger man flushed red. A snarl ripped from his throat and he shoved the doctor against the wall. He pressed a forearm across Stitches' throat. "Do not make me remind you when you've failed me!"

The older man fought to push the well muscled Frank off but to no avail. If the air wasn't squeezed out of his lungs in panic, Stitches would have flinched at the rage in Frank's eyes. With a feral growl, Frank released him. The doctor rubbed his neck and dragged air into his lungs.

"Sorry," he rasped.

Frank's snarl was replaced with a benign smile in a flash. "Don't worry about it. Just get it done right," he said. The smile never reached his eyes.

Stitches shuddered but nodded. "Just bring her to me."

Frank nodded and left Stitches to his preparations. Tenner was outside waiting for him. "Are you sure about it?" he asked.

"This is cheaper and it keeps Stitches happy. Three months discount and we get the girl hooked up with an experimental amp and implant," Frank said, "what's not to love about this arrangement?"

"The Dowager-"

He glared at Tenner. "You run the numbers. I make the decisions. You got that?"

Tenner stifled his protests and nodded stiffly.

"All right, get Scars or Cutter to bring the girl here. It is time she makes my investment worthwhile."

* * *

"Here," Nike said as she tossed her leftovers at Burger.

He missed as the day old fries slapped against his snout. She laughed. "You're just awful at this."

There was nothing else to do today. Her rounds were completed. Meg didn't have any of the movies she liked. "I'm doing a Tom Cruise special this week," Meg said. "You're not going to sneak in to watch one of them?"

The posters for Mission Impossible, The Firm and Vanilla Sky stared at her. She grinned and shook her head. None of these were her favourites. Meg stopped pretending she didn't know Nike had been sneaking into the projector room. The door was, after all, always left unlocked for her. In turn, Nike left peace offerings in form of food. Burger was even allowed up there with her.

"No, I'll come back next week and see what you have," she said.

"What do you want to watch?" Meg countered.

"Anything?"

"Anything that I have."

Nike tapped her foot and thought about it. "Do you have Moulin Rouge?" she asked hopefully.

"I may have that," Meg replied slyly, crowfeet streaking from her eyes. "All right come back next week, maybe Moulin Rouge will be on."

"Yes!" Nike cheered, punching her fist into the air.

With a happy skip in her step, she walked home. Burger trotting by her heels. She made a quick trip into the base to drop off the credit chits on Tenner's overflowing desk. He would add that to their little stash. Cutter and Scars were at the makeshift range out back, trying to one-up each other. So she grabbed the bags of fries from yesterday and headed out again.

Since their raid of the Razors' base, they were eating a little better, but the biggest difference were their weapons. Frank made sure they were always armed. Pistols for regular daily use, SMGs for when they went raiding.

The pistol was a comforting weight. Normally she kept it hooked against her waistband at the small of her back. With her back leaning against the fence, she faced the street and admired the pistol. She held it up against the light. The pistol though badly scuffed up, worked well. Her right hand was busy stuffing more fries into her mouth when Burger pushed his nose against her hand, not keen on waiting anymore. "Hey!" she protested as Burger snapped his jaw around the entire bag of fries.

With one quick jerk of his powerful neck, the bag tore, leaving her a single fry in her hand. Burger danced away as she lunged for the bag, spilling fries all over. "Asshole!"

The rumble of bikes distracted her and Burger escaped with what fries were left in the torn bag. It was Frank and Tenner returning. The old petrol scooters spluttered loudly. Tenner rode straight into base while Frank turned towards her as Burger was busy scuffing down his ill-gotten gains.

Nike surged to her feet when she realised Frank had no intention to slow down. She grabbed Burger by the scruff of his neck and pulled him out of the way. The dog yelped in fright. Frank laughed. He dismounted and kicked in Burger's direction. But the dog was faster than the boot.

"What the hell, Frank!" she shouted. "Leave the dog alone."

"Stop wasting food on a mutt. Come on," he said, grabbing her by her collar.

She stumbled along to keep from falling. Burger growled at Frank, food forgotten. He sighed and pulled his pistol out. "I told you to get rid of the mutt so many times," he pulled back the hammer on his pistol lazily. "If you can't do it…"

She struggled out of Frank's grip and stood between Burger and the pistol. "What the fuck," she shouted, "it's just a dog. Leave him be."

Frank looked at Burger, then at Nike. With a grin spreading over his lips, he said, "Get rid of the dog. We're not a shelter. I am not asking nicely again."

He waited with one hand on his hip, pistol held loosely. She turned her back on Frank with a little trepidation. "Go!" she shouted at Burger.

The dog cocked his head but made no move to go. Running towards Burger with her arms outstretched did nothing. He stuck his tongue out as if laughing. "Frank, hey can't we just go back in," she suggested.

His eyes were hard as he looked on. "No," he said, "either you get rid of him or I will."

The grip he had on his pistol was no longer loose but tight. And the muzzle was pointed directly at Burger.

 _Fuck._

Nike was careful to angle her body to cover Burger. She prayed she didn't misread her value to the Reds. She had proven her worth, hadn't she? Her hands were stained red during that first raid. Maybe she hadn't helped in the same manner in the raids after that, but she had assisted. She was one of them. Right?

Jaw clenched, shoulders set, she pulled her pistol out. She didn't allow herself a split second of hesitation. Burger watched her. His brown eyes so big, so trusting. With a grunt of effort, she raised it above her head and pulled the trigger.

The gunfire rang out, heart-stoppingly loud. Burger bolted. Nike took a shuddering breath, whispering under her breath, "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

Mastering her expression before she turned back to Frank, she said, "There, done."

Frank smirked. "Good girl," he said. "You're in for a big day tomorrow."

* * *

"Hey doc," Scars called out. "How long will it take?"

Nike looked around the clinic. Its appearance hadn't improved. She remembered what it was like living on the streets, so she wasn't too fussy. Frank had explained to her that she was getting an implant and an amp for the strange blue magic she could do. But exactly how it was all going to be done, he never said a word. Now that she was standing in Stitches' office, she figured maybe it would be some kind of injection.

"It won't be fast. At least six hours?" Stitches replied.

 _Six?_

A thrill of fear ran down her spine. She wanted so much to check in on Burger this morning, but Scars took her to the clinic on the motorcycle. So that idea went out the window. Now she had to hang around the clinic for six hours?

"Woah, that's long," Scars said, before turning to her, "all right I'll be back for you later."

Without a backwards glance, he was out the door again, leaving her alone with Stitches. The doctor's hands were folded across his chest. He sighed and turned to walk back into the curtained-off area. She followed.

"Sit."

She obeyed and perched on the stool across from him. She waited.

"So I'll need to shave some of your hair for the surgery," Stitches said.

"Surgery?"

It was a word she wasn't familiar with, she lifted her omni-tool to check on the word, but Stitches pushed her hand down.

"I'm going to have to put this," he picked up a circular plastic component still wrapped in its packaging and showed it to her, "into the base of your head, so I'll have to shave your head."

It was the size of his thumb nail and looked vaguely spider-like with four thin and limp legs splayed out. She blinked not quite comprehending the situation. But dread was tightening around her chest.

Stitches shifted his chair closer and pressed his fingers at the base of her head. "Right about there. So I'll take maybe five centimetres of hair off, maybe more."

Nike jerked backwards. "I don't want that. You're going to cut into my head!"

He grabbed her arm. "It is not going to hurt. Don't make this harder than it is," he said.

It wasn't convincing in the slightest. She struggled, fighting like a wild horse forced to the bit.

"Stop, stop, stop!" he shouted, relinquishing his hold on her arm. "Just listen to me."

Nike glared at him cautiously. She remembered he helped when Frank sprained her wrist months ago. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she inched backwards, putting some space between them.

"Frank wants me to do this. And I have to do this. If you want to stay with the Reds, you will have to do this," Stitches said, his arms held up placatingly.

She swallowed, turning his words over and over in her head. It made sense. Frank spoke to her yesterday. He was eager about it. The whole purpose of the raids had been to get funds for the amp and implant. Frank wouldn't be happy if she had refused.

"It won't hurt," Stitches went on. "I will put you to sleep and then when you wake up it is done. It will help you control your biotics."

"Biotics?" she parroted back to the doctor.

"Fuck," he sighed. "How much do you actually know? Frank never said that I needed to give you a crash course too."

He stood up and started pacing, running his hands through his thick hair. She watched quietly, committing the words to memory so that she could look them up later.

"I've got to do this. It's not about ethics, I fucking work in the slums. What ethics? That's useless to me. I have to do this. It doesn't matter," Stitches muttered under his breath.

Glancing at her direction, he approached again. This time, he held her hand gently and knelt down, putting him at her eye level. "Right, you're a biotic. With this, you will be able to use it better. It is just a little nick and you're done. Think of it this way, with this," he said, shaking the implant in her face, "nobody can make you do things you don't want to."

The memory of Burger's eyes turning from trust to fear flashed across her mind's eye. Her heart clenched. She didn't want to have to do that again. "I can protect Burger," she murmured.

Stitches frowned but chose to ignore it. "So shall we get this done?"

Nike nodded. He took a buzzer to the back of her head and black hair fell to the floor. Once that was done, he led her to a separate room and handed her an adult sized medical gown

"Change into this, I'll be back later," he said.

She looked at the gown then at the room. The brave front she had put up earlier was rapidly crumbling. There was a medical table in the middle of the cramped room. Devices, plastic tubes and metal equipment cluttered a side table. And a large lamp hung on a retracting arm overhead. Memories of another room flooded into her mind, a girl with a ripped open chest, blood flowing, pieces missing. Nike gagged, flinching at the image flooding into her mind. She clenched her fists, her nails bit half moons into her palm.

 _I'm a big girl. This is a good thing. I will be able to protect myself after this. This is a good thing._

When the door opened again, she was dressed but tears were standing in her eyes. She stiffened, staring at the strange man dressed in scrubs and a mask. Only his eyes were visible. "It's me," the strange man said with Stitches' voice.

She relaxed marginally.

"Get up on the table," he instructed.

The table was hard and icy to the touch. Her only view was the lamp as she listened to Stitches shuffling around her. She tightened her jaw when her lower lip started to trembled, blinking her tears furiously away.

 _I'm a big girl. I will do this._

She repeated the endless litany in her head. It didn't take long before Stitches' face appeared overhead. "You're going to feel a little sting," he said.

Pain lanced up her arm as he plunged a syringe into it. Her world started spinning as her vision went hazy. She opened her mouth to speak but he pressed a mask over her nose and mouth. Her limbs twitched in a vain attempt to fight against the drugs. As her vision started to tunnel and dim, Burger's goofy face was the last thing her disoriented brain threw at her.

* * *

Stitches worked. Sweat beading across his brow and upper lip despite the cooler temperature of the room. He snorted inwardly. It was nothing like a surgery room. This was no place to implant biotic hardware in anyone let alone a child. He was a doctor, and he knew he was nowhere qualified to do the job. His hands trembled from fatigue, his fingers couldn't keep a steady grip on his tools. He sighed and dropped them on a waiting tray.

The girl lay still, face down, a mask over her nose and mouth. It was the only thing keeping her down. And he had made sure the dosage was high enough for a biotic, albeit a child sized one. He knelt down to check. Everything looked fine as far as he could tell.

 _Not girl, her name is Nike, remember that._ Nike's face was slack, she looked almost dead. _No, she is not dead, she is just under. I just need to get this done._

Stitches took a shuddering breath to steady himself. He glanced at the uncapped bottle of booze sitting on the table next to the tray of soiled instruments. The straw bobbing from the mouth of the bottle was inviting him. He wasn't stupid enough to contaminate his gloved hands by holding the bottle. That was what the straw was for. His eyes couldn't quite bring themselves to look at the task at hand. He blinked and swallowed. His throat was parched.

 _Just one sip, to calm the nerves._

He nodded, giving himself permission. His mouth opened and caught the straw between his lips. Taking a deep breath, he took a single sip. He drank like he was a man dying of thirst. When he finally relinquished the straw, the originally full bottle was half empty. He sighed happily and held in a burp.

"Excuse me," he said to nobody in particular.

Stitches held out his hand and they seemed steadier than before. "Yeah, that's the right thing to do," he muttered, "I just need a little break."

Glancing at the battery operated clock, he realised he was coming up on the five hour mark. Scars would be back for the girl soon.

 _Nike, her name is Nike._

He sighed again and picked up a pair of retractors. Carefully, he inserted the retractors into the incision he made earlier. Blood oozed from the wound as he pulled the gauze he stuffed in to stop the bleeding. His suction machine wasn't working so he had to make do.

This entire surgery was one massive session of making do. He glanced down, the girl's brain stem was exposed and the site looked clear. He couldn't help but pat himself on the back for getting it done with the limited equipment he had. He clenched his slightly shaking hand. It would have been so easy for his hand to slip and he'd lost control of the medical drill. It wouldn't just be the girl dead, he would be as well. Frank wouldn't just let it go if he killed the Reds' resident biotic.

Biotics were a rare commodity. The Dowager collected most of them. She ruled simply because she had the credits and muscle to back up her threats. Snatchers made sure to test for biotic abilities before cutting kids up for their organs. Gangs would kill to have a biotic on their team. Life would have been easier with a biotic on their side. But the main reason was a gang's ability to field a fighter in the ring. Everyone bet on the fights. A gang like the Reds could stand to win more than mere credits at one of these fights. Territories changed hands on the result of a fight. And the Dowager was the reigning winner of these fights. Simply because she had the best of the best. And her fighters were all well motivated to win, because a loss meant being cast out. The Dowager wasn't in the business of second chances. The other gangs would snap up a failed fighter quickly but they had other methods of keeping their biotics in check.

Stitches shook his head. He had a job to do. He didn't have time to dwell on the politics of the Underbelly. He ripped the packaging and pulled the tiny chip out. The thin wire like material was supposed to latch onto the nervous system. How? Stitches had no fucking clue. But the theory was to gain access to the largest concentration of biotic nodes - the brain. He flipped the packaging around and looked for installation instructions. Blood smearing over the white packet made it impossible to read.

"I can get access to cheap implants and mods, even some experimental ones. But I am not an implant specialist. I told Frank, does he listen?" he muttered. "No, he insist that I do it. And this implant? This is some damn experimental implant I've seen before. Does it even install like the regular ones?"

Stitches flipped the packaging left and right in quick, curt motions. "No, going through the Dowager is too expensive. It raises the tithe and that boy just want to juice his pet biotic up!"

Exasperated, he flung the packaging at the wall.

"So the girl ruptured his testicle and he takes it out on me!" Stitches said, his voice no longer a low mutter but full bodied and loud. "How is this my fault? I had no ultrasound to diagnose his problem. I fucking took the damn thing out. And it was only one testicle, he had another one. He should thank me! And this was months ago. The girl punched him in the balls and somehow it is my problem."

He looked down and looked the girl again. Pity and worry colouring his gaze. Nike was the only innocent soul here. Though her time with the Reds had only been mere months, he had heard of the random bouts of violence that were slowly and surely being attributed to the Reds. Frank had always been ambitious, but he had stepped up his plans since she joined them.

Stitches sighed. He glanced at the bottle again. _One more, for the road._ And he finished whatever was left in the bottle. He smacked his lips in satisfaction. "Now, the package says it is plug and play, easy peasy," he muttered, "it had better be."

He looked into the site again. Blood was welling up again. "Shit."

He pressed a fresh piece of gauze and it was saturated just as quickly. "Ok here goes fucking nothing, girl."

Gingerly, he lowered the implant down. Nothing happened. Then, Nike twitched, his monitors screeched in response. Stitches flinched.

"Thank the fuck I've strapped you down."

He glanced down again. "I think that worked," he muttered as he pulled the amp out of another sealed package.

"Tab A to Slot B."

It took more time than he anticipated. Closing the wound up, then bandaging up as best he could before he turned down the gas. Scars popped into the room when he was moving the girl onto her side. Stitches glanced at the clock, the boy was two hours late.

"How's it going doc?" he asked.

"Just done but it will be a while before she wakes up."

Scars shuffled on his feet. "Can I just leave her with you? She can go back to base on her own tomorrow or something."

Stitches shrugged. "I know how to reach you if I need you to get her back," he said.

"Sweet," Scars smiled as he turned to go, "You're the best doc."

He was too tired to respond, instead he picked up his empty booze bottle and left the room, leaving Nike alone.


	9. Pain and Fire

Chapter 9 - Pain and Fire

 **WARNING: NIGHTMARE, FIRE, BURING BUILDING, CHILD IN PERIL, SURGERY, UNETHICAL MEDICAL PROCEDURES**

Pain. Throbbing, stabbing and urgent. Heat. White-hot, blistering and consuming. Her eyes snapped open. Fire, everywhere. Ignoring the pain in her legs, she pulled herself up.

 _I am on fire._

Her ankle screamed in protest as she dragged herself away on hands and knees. She remembered falling. Looking up, the beam she fell from was no longer there.

 _Where is Thomas?_

Heat scorching her palms and knees reminded her to get going. Shakily, she stood and tested her ankle. A sharp pain shot up her leg, it felt like a dagger of ice twisting at the joint. But she could manage an awkward shuffle with much panting and hissing. There was no time for hesitation or second guessing. The fire was coming and she had to move. Picking the direction that looked the safest, she started hobbling.

There was one silver lining despite the fall, it meant she was now on the ground level. If she could get herself outside, and away, she would be safe. Her stomach churned as she coughed, her lungs trying to expel the white dust that just seemed to be everywhere. She covered her nose and mouth with one hand, while the other acted as support, reaching out and bracing against walls or furniture that were still safe to touch.

It wasn't just her ankle. Her back was sore, the burn across her chest angry. She had picked up a whole bunch of scratches and scrapes across her arms and legs. Still, she couldn't allow them to slow her down. One foot in front of the other, step by step, she moved down the hallway.

The fire burnt brighter, hotter behind her. She couldn't see beyond the devouring inferno. There was only one way forward really. The teachers' quarters were above, she didn't know what was below. Maybe it was more of the same? There was only one way to know for sure.

The hobble-step gait she had was slow, but it was the best she could manage. Tentatively she tested the door knob. It wasn't hot and unlocked. Relief washed over her. Pushing through she realised it was an infirmary. She had never been in before. Most of the scratches she picked up from daily life in the home were treated with a pat on the head from the teachers and little else. She never had needed anything more. She hardly ever got sick. But now, she prayed she could find something to ease the pain.

She stumbled through, hands fumbling at drawers. Most of them were locked. Eventually she tried the cupboard at the back. The doors swung open and she pulled at the boxes on shelves she could reach.

 _Yes!_

There was a first aid kit. Inside she found a single use pack of medi-gel. She tried to tear the pack and the plastic wasn't giving. Sweat dripping down her face, a combination from exertion and heat.

 _Come on!_

There was no telling how much time she wasted, she was close to tears. When the packaging tore, the tube flew out of her hands. "No!" she shouted as it landed a distance away.

The contents oozed into the ground. Teeth gritted, she hobbled as quickly as she could over. Stifling a sob as she applied what was left inside liberally over her ankle. The skin was weeping in parts and blistering in others. Tears pricked her eyes as the coolness of the medi-gel numbed her ankle. She spread whatever was left over her chest and arms.

She sighed, wishing she could rest a little, but the crackling outside forced her to her feet again. The infirmary was large, but it was also a dead end. Her original plan to climb through the ducts was unnecessary since she was already on the ground floor. All she needed now was out.

But how?

She glanced around the infirmary. Windows! If she could get one of them open, she could climb out. Wincing, her ankle bore her weight a little better than before, she staggered to the windows. The muscles on her arms corded and shifted as she worked the handles. Most were locked. Still, she tried all of them methodically. Then the window nearest the door swung open without trouble. Fresh air swept into the room. She took a deep breath and savoured it. It was her first breath of untainted air in hours.

 _Was it hours?_

She was tired, dirty and hungry. Shaking her head to clear it, she eyed the opening. It wasn't wide. With a grunt, she gave the window another hard shove, it wouldn't budge any further.

 _Can I get through it?_

It didn't matter. She had to try. There was no way she was going to hang around any longer than she had to. She shoved a stool against the window. The metal legs squeaked against the tiled floor. Grimacing she pulled herself up onto the ledge. She leaned out and sighed with relief. The drop wasn't high.

Crunch - an echo of a memory. A body hitting the concrete pavement with force.

Her breath hitched. Her knuckles white from the intensity of her grip. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. With one more backward glance at the door behind her, she slipped off the ledge, heat and flames chasing her.

She landed feet first with a cry. Pain lanced up her bad ankle despite the medi-gel. She laid on her back for a while, trying to let the pain ease a little before moving.

"There!" someone shouted.

Before she registered what was going on, hands large and small were helping her up. They were half dragging, half carrying her. When they finally let go, she struggled to her feet. A small cluster of kids both older and younger than herself were staring back at her. There were no more than 20 of them. Among them there were no grown ups.

"Did you see Emma?" one asked.

"Did you see Thomas?" another asked.

Each of them had names they asked after but she had no answer for most. The words were caught in her throat. In the end she just shook her head, her lips pressed into a firm line. Turning back, she faced the only home she ever knew and watched the fire consumed it.

It wasn't just burning. Now that she was outside, she realised parts of the building had collapsed. The entire rear of the structure had fallen in on itself. There was nothing but a raging inferno. Smoke and fire spewing from the crater. But a white haze that didn't belong hung in the air, coating both her home and everything surrounding it.

She coughed. The white dust was everywhere, falling from the sky like snowflakes. It was a scene she had only seen in vids. Lifting her hand up in wonder, she realised everyone were mostly coated in white. She was the only one soot smudged. They must have been standing out in the open for a long time.

The wind picked up. A howl rose from the concrete jungle around them. It was a moan, low and high in turns, a dirge for the dying carcass of her only home. Despite the heat, she shivered. The smoke parted and behind it, she saw a transport craft. It wasn't a large one but enough to cause the damage she saw. She hadn't learn many words and flames had charred most of them from the side of the aircraft.

What was left were four alphabets. She spelt it out in her head.

 _E-E-Z-O_

Her eyes wouldn't look away, she was determined to commit it all to memory. It wasn't merely the destruction of her home, it was a loss of something core to her, but she couldn't find the words to mourn it. Her heart ached and she didn't understand why.

Someone behind her called out, "Hey, I think you should sit down and get those burns looked at."

She didn't hear them. She blinked, wavering on her feet. Her vision tunnelled and her legs gave out.

* * *

Pain. Lancing, piercing and hot. Nike's eyes snapped open expecting to see fire, but it was cold. She shivered. Everything was unfamiliar, cabinets crammed with bottles, trays filled with bloody instruments. The scent of iron was overwhelming.

 _Where am I?_

Her jaw clenched tight to hold the misery at bay, but her guts heaved. She opened her mouth to retch but there was nothing except air. A groan clawed its way up her throat regardless. It was low and agonising sound of a wounded animal.

Her head throbbed. The worst of it concentrated where her head met her neck. Gingerly, she reached behind to touch. The slightest of brushes against the bandage sent shooting pain into her head. Tears streamed unbidden from her eyes.

Memories came back to her in bits and pieces. Frank made her chase Burger away, a talk about implants and amps, Stitches making her sleepy. She jerked upright and cried out. Her eyes searched for help from someone, anyone. The room spun dangerously and her guts clenched. She dry heaved, still nothing came up. She remembered she had not eaten that morning.

 _Is it still the same day? Where is Scars?_

She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to keep a lid on her nausea. The door squeaked open and she flinched away from the sound.

"You're awake!" Stitches said, relief evident in his voice. "I thought…"

She opened her eyes and glared at him. It lacked the intensity her green-yellow eyes usually have. "What did you do to me?" she demanded hoarsely.

He held his hands up placatingly. "I know you're in pain. Anyone would be too after the procedure. Don't worry, it is a minor one and it went well."

Nike narrowed her eyes, catching Stitches' furtive glances at everything else in the room but her. Before she could call him on his bullshit, he approached. "Let me check the wound. Some medi-gel would help," he assured.

She stiffened as she felt the wet bandage lifted from her skin. Her jaw tightened, despite her efforts whimpers broke through. Stitches hissed at whatever he saw.

"It looked fine, healing well," he hurriedly said.

Nike stuffed her wrist into her mouth as she listened to Stitches bustling behind her. Drawers were slid out and slammed shut. Boxes opened and items retrieved then discarded. Plastic packaging rustling and ripped open. Then something cool hit her skin right at the pulsating raw spot. She cried out. Her teeth bit down on her wrist, hard.

"Almost done, just a little bit more," he cooed.

As much as she wanted to shrug off Stitches' attention, as much as she was pissed off at the situation, Nike knew she needed his supplies. Working for the Reds only meant a safe place to sleep, regular showers and food, some kind of camaraderie with the others. She wasn't paid, that meant she had nothing but the clothes on her back and the omni-tool on her wrist. Though Nike was more than happy to use threats and her blade to get what she needed from shops within the Reds' Dowager sanctioned territory, medical supplies still came at a premium.

The cool sensation spread, seeping into her skin, numbing the spot. It took the edge off her pounding head. Her shoulders relaxed a little, the tension her body held eased. Gingerly, she pulled her wrist from her mouth. There was a perfect imprint of her teeth. A couple of the marks were bleeding. She wiped spit from her wrist on the medical gown she was wearing.

Stitches covered the wound with bandages again before walking out. Nike straightened her neck and back as much as she could. With a fresh application of medi-gel she managed if she moved slowly. Vaguely she wondered if she was supposed to follow him. As soon as the thought occured to her, Stitches came back.

He had a couple of white pills in his hand. "Swallow these," he said.

Nike took them and gave him the best glower she could muster under the situation. "These are painkillers," he said, rattling the bottle in her face.

She popped them in her mouth and choked them down.

"Ahh, sorry. I don't have anything but booze here," he said. "Take this bottle and take the painkillers two tablets each time, twice a day. Ice the spot and change bandages everyday if you can. Keep the site dry."

Stitches rattled off instructions after instructions. She was barely listening. It was close to midday when Scars turned up.

"Nike!" he called.

She could barely keep her eyes open. Hungry, thirsty and tired, it was the worse she had ever felt. It was more horrible than the time she ate mouldy food. She threw up for days on end for that. This was worse, way worse.

Scars blanched when he saw her. "Are you ok?" he asked.

She just blinked in response from her hunched position on the medical table. The doctor shoved her clothes to Scars and said, "She will need help while she heals."

* * *

Nike didn't how they got back to base. It was all a haze. The pain was muted, far away with the medication, but it made her mind foggy. She floated rather than walked. Cotton candy was stuffed between her ears. Hours blended into days. Vaguely she knew Scars and Cutter looked in on her. Sometimes one of them would shake her awake to eat, other times they would help her with changing of bandages. But most of the time they left her alone. The wound started to stink, she smelled because she laid for days on end in her sweat. Movement meant straightening, it meant pain and it was too much trouble. Other than peeing she never moved from her spot. When she was awake, it was agonising pain that made her threw up what she managed to force down. So sleep was her only escape but it was hard to fall asleep. With her back pressed against the wall, the only way she felt safe without Burger, she dozed. Time ceased to have meaning.

"How long is she going to be healing?" someone shouted.

"Boss, I don't know. The wound is still raw," another replied. "And it stinks."

"It has been more than a week. I am losing credits like this. I'm feeding her and she isn't working."

Footsteps, heavy and loud strode towards her. The gait was long and loping. It was Frank.

"Nike," he called.

She kept her eyes shut, willing him to go away.

"She is asleep, boss. Just leave her be," the other said. She recognised Cutter's baritone voice. "I think we should get some medi-gel. Maybe Stitches should look at her."

There was no reply for a while. She knew this silence. It was razor sharp and dangerous. One wrong word, the powder keg would blow. She wanted medi-gel too. She wanted anything to stop the painkillers had long ran out, it wasn't aiding in the healing. She shifted in her sleeping bag, curling up and whimpered, peeling her eyes opened to glance at them.

Nike knew she was a liability, all input and no output, worse than useless. Frank wouldn't stand for this long, but she couldn't just will her body to heal. She didn't want to be back out on the streets or worse sold to the Snatchers. _Will Frank really do that?_

Frank stared at her. She would have flinched if she had the energy to. Cutter was rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Eventually Frank sighed. "Speak to Tenner, get Stitches here," he said.

As Cutter left, he called after the younger man, "He owe us. He botched the job!"

"Boss," she rasped.

"You had better be worth it," he muttered as he left.

* * *

Nike winced, shielding her eyes from the sun. She took a deep breath and exhaled in one big explosive breath, trying to push all the soreness out. Her fingers reached behind, questing for the tender wound. It was small and red but no longer swollen. It was still a little wet from the medi-gel she applied before she left the base.

She sighed and started walking again. It took her twice the time to cover her usual distance. Frank kicked her out to do her rounds two days after she got back from Stitches. "Earn your keep!" he shouted.

Stitches came and took one look at her and said, "Her wound is infected."

And that began a shouting match over her little corner. Frank demanded to know why Stitches botched the job. Stitches pleading for his life and repeatedly telling Frank he was just a general practitioner not a specialist. In the end, Cutter carried her to Stitches' clinic.

"Damn, girl," Stitches said as she whimpered when he pulled the soiled bandages away. "I have to make you sleepy again."

"Will it hurt more?" she asked.

He stiffened and forced a smile. Nike would shrink back if it didn't set off flares across her neck and head.

"No it wouldn't. You will go to sleep and you will be better."

Cutter grunted. "That had better be true, doc. She is one of ours."

After Stitches put her to sleep again, she woke up in considerably less pain than before though extremely woozy. Cutter was perched precariously on a tiny stool snoring loudly. She spent days in Stitches' clinic, lying on the table where he put her to sleep on. Steadily she got stronger and better. The wound was still sore, but it wasn't hot to the touch and it didn't stink and ooze pus.

She could hear Cutter arguing over on omni-tool with Frank.

"She was a good team member before. You made Stitches put a fucking chip into her head and fuck her up!"

Some silence. Nike figured he was getting yelled at. Frank never liked being talked back to. Everyone had a fist to their face if they stepped out of line.

"But she is still healing," he said. "If she is so important to you as your investment, you need to let her heal."

When Cutter returned to the room, she shut her eyes and pretended to be sleeping. She didn't know how to take his overt concern towards her. All of them were hovered in the grey area of not quite friends, not quite enemies. But Nike trusted all of them to watch her back. She was one of the Reds. Stitches' warning was the only lingering doubt that niggled at the back of her head.

Eventually at the end of the week, no matter how guilty Stitches felt whenever he looked at her, they had outstayed even that. Cutter walked her back to the base, back to Frank's baleful glare.

"Girl, you better hope you are worth it. You cost me a lot," he growled.

He hadn't spoke to her or Cutter till he put her back out on her rounds.

* * *

That first day was rough. Nike still tire easily but she was relatively pain free. She stopped at the usual spot looking for Burger. The mutt was nowhere to be seen. The worry weighed heavy against her chest. But she had a job to do, her place in the Reds was hanging by a thread.

Eventually Nike trudged on feeling incredibly vulnerable without Burger flanking her. She expected everyone to put up a fight giving over their credits. She shuffled with a scowl and her blade ready in her hand. In the end, nobody gave her trouble.

It got easier after that. She wouldn't admit it if anyone asked but being up and moving helped her feel a little more normal. By the end of the week she was almost herself, albeit still very sore. Though she missed Burger intensely, she knew he was safer without her, especially against Frank's unreasonable anger.

 _Just be safe out there. I know you're safe._

Nike didn't want to return to the base. The atmosphere back at the base was oppressive. She felt like she was walking on eggshells all the time. One wrong move would set Frank off. Cutter was already in the doghouse thanks to her, she didn't want to be responsible for more shit raining down on anyone else.

Nike sighed and her legs took her to her happy place - the cinema. She glanced at the posters Meg posted outside. "Moulin Rouge is still up?" she muttered, remembering the chat she had with Meg. "But it has been more than a week."

She had arrived way too early for a showing but there was nowhere she wanted to be. Her head was throbbing a little and the heat was taking a toll on her. She had to get out of the sun. Walking up to the projector room, she found it locked and empty. Meg wasn't in yet. Nike went to work picking the lock. It wasn't anything she hadn't done before. Vaguely she wondered if this meant she wasn't welcomed anymore. That thought made her sad.

 _Burger, first. Now, Meg too._

She exhaled, her jaw set as she went on picking the lock. As the lock clicked as it disengaged, Nike couldn't help the grin that tugged at her lips. Even though it took longer than usual, she got it done in the end. She made a grunt of satisfaction as she sank into her usual chair, and propped her feet up on a nearby desk.

The sore spot at the base of her skull started twinging. She rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably, unable to rid herself of the strange sensation. Since the procedure and after most of the throbbing had subsided, there was a near constant low grade buzzing. It wasn't something audible. It was more like a vibration under her skin emanating from her core. Nike wondered if she should be worried, but she pushed it out of her mind.

 _If it didn't hurt, it didn't matter._

Instead, she started searching the extranet for those strange words Stitches talked to her about. Maybe it was the heat that did it, maybe she wasn't as strong as she thought she was, but it didn't take long before she dozed off.

A shuffling sound made Nike jolted upright. The door opened and something rushed towards her. It bowled into her, pushing her clean off the chair. A delighted bark and her fingers found fur instead of danger. "Burger!" she cried.

Happy licks coated her face with saliva, but she didn't care. She had missed her friend. "Where have you been? I looked for you!" she said.

Glancing up she found Meg looking down at her. "What happened? I didn't see you for days!"

Her eyes met Meg's. All she found there was concern, fear and relief. Meg sat down on the floor and pulled her into her arms. Nike was stiff and confused. "I thought you were taken!" Meg went on. "I heard some kids went missing again. Then there was a raid on another Snatcher hideout. When I saw your dog wandering without you for days, I was so sure that you were gone."

Nike felt the tightness of Meg's hug. Burger was still pushing his snout against her ribs, his tail swinging back and forth like it was never going to stop. She relaxed in parts. Her body went limp against Meg, then her arms fell loose on her lap. Her shoulders and jaw released the tension she didn't know she was holding on to.

Meg pushed her away a little. Hands cupping Nike's face and eyes roving over her. "Say something girl," she said.

Nike didn't know quite know how to explain it to the older woman. She could barely understand it herself. All the hurt, both physical and emotional, confusion and fear was released in a single exhale. A lump grew in her throat as she tried to hold it in. But it was too much, too quick. She didn't understand the welling of emotions even as tears pricked her eyes. Meg pulled her close again, arms enclosed around her.


	10. First Blood

Chapter 10 - First Blood

 **WARNING: CHILD FIGHT, ILLEGAL FIGHTING, PERIODS, MENSES**

"Show time," Scars grinned.

Nike's jaw clenched. She looked at the domed enclosed fighting ring, a shimmering orange barrier separating inside from out. Her guts clenched. _This can't be happening._

"I have a lot riding on you, Nike," Frank said. The smirk on his face was predatory and filled with anticipation. "Do well and you will get a cut of the winnings."

"How much?" she countered instantly, her pacing halted.

"Keen on the profits huh?" Tenner said, licking his lips as he looked at her.

She angled her body away from him. Nike had no idea where they got the clothes. but they resembled the ones she seen fighters wore the last time. Tenner went to great lengths to find them. He made sure she knew.

"Here, wear this," he said, handing them to her earlier.

"What is this?" she asked, a frown creasing her brow. She pulled a pair of too small, too tight black shorts and a shortened tank top from the bag.

Tenner's olive skin flushed as he flashed her his teeth. She shifted from him, his grin verging on a leer. "These are compression shorts and a pair of sports bra."

"Bras?" Nike cocked her head. "What are those for?"

The older boy frowned. "I… That's…"

Words failed Tenner, somehow he flushed redder. Scars sniggered at his reaction. "Someone is embarrassed."

"Do you want to explain it to her?" Tenner retorted. "How can she not know what are bras for?"

Cutter's guffaw was loud and obnoxious. Even Frank was doubled over in glee.

"Why should I know about them?" Nike fired back, feeling like they were all laughing at her. Still she committed the words to memory so she could check up on them later. "Where am I supposed to learn about them?"

"But, you're a girl!" Tenner exclaimed, as if it was answer enough.

* * *

Though the buzzing under her skin persisted, it was only an annoyance. Things were returning normal. Her rounds, her sneaking off to Meg's. Even though she took care to ignore Burger if she was out in public, she could play with him while she was at Meg's. The projector room was a safe haven for her. Watching movies of so many happy couples finding their happiness in each other and their families.

It was good, it was enough.

But Frank had to flip her world on its head. Instead of rounds, he puther in the front lines of raids. With each successful raid they ran, the more frustrated Frank got. She heard many a whispered argument between the boys.

"It has been more than a month," Frank hissed. "She is supposed to be able to use her ability. She is supposed to use them."

"I don't know if this is how it works," Cutter replied.

"Are you an expert suddenly?"

"No. Sorry, boss." Cutter was back being a good little foot solider for Frank, no longer her ally. That week at Stitches was merely an anomaly.

Feet shuffled and furniture got pushed around. "Boss, the last time we saw her used her powers, she was scared and in danger," Scars said meekly.

Frank grunted. "We take her on raids for this very purpose," he growled.

"But she is good with her pistol and blade," Tenner pointed out. "Maybe a little too good?"

Then silence. Nike breathed shallowly. _What are they planning?_

She didn't find out because the others filed out without exchanging another word. She pretended to be listening to her music as she cleaned her pistol.

Just before the next raid, Frank took her aside. "Give me your pistol and blade," he said.

"Why?" she asked, her heckles raised.

"We got new toys. I want to test those out," he replied easily.

Frank pulled a brand new pistol and handed it to her. She had never seen the like before. It was blocky, it lacked the hammer she was used to and it was much heavier.

"This is a Kessler pistol from Hahne-Kedar," Frank explained.

She examined the pistol and she couldn't figure out where bullets went. Frank laughed. "This is new. It doesn't run out of bullets."

Her eyes went wide.

That night the raid started like they usually did. She would go in first and charm her way through, paving the way for the others. Frank had systemically took down all gangs smaller than theirs. But that day, they were moving onto bigger prey.

"That's the target," he said, pointing out the building to them.

Nike glanced at the words written on the building and she recognised them. A smirk tugged at her mouth as she read the words with pride. "Primary School." she muttered. "It's a school, a place of learning."

"What did you say?" Scars asked, nudging her.

She shook her head. Frank looked at the others. "You know what to do?" he asked them.

They nodded and off she went.

The ploy was still working. Nobody rightly knew who was picking off the smaller gangs. The rumour mill at the Underbelly churned but nobody had caught on with their tactics. The Reds never took over the emptied spaces. New gangs formed to be raided when they were slightly successful. The Dowager kept silent, the Reds paid their tithe. Everything was fine.

Nike approached the base, making up excuses to get herself inside. The front door was sorted. All she needed to do was to stall for time. When the others got here, her job was done. The seconds ticked by. Her excuses were running thin and flimsy.

"What are you doing here exactly?" one of them asked her, her eyes bloodshot and angry. "Are you here to steal from us, girl?"

"If you're not, why are you not coming in?" a man sneered, sniffing as if he had a cold.

"Cat got your tongue, girl?" another asked.

Nike tried to back away from them. _Where the fucking hell are they?_ "I just want to hang out here?" she replied weakly.

A fourth person circled to her back. She shifted, trying to put all of them in front of her. In her distraction to keep him in her view, she showed her back to the others.

"Hey!" one of them shouted, "she is armed."

Then all hell broke loose. Arms stretched towards her, ready to grab and subdued. Nike was faster, she had expected this. She went for her brand spanking new pistol. Two hands on the grip and she pulled the trigger.

It clicked. And nothing happened.

A chill ran down her spine. _Why isn't it firing?_ She pulled and pulled and pulled. It wasn't firing. The people's faces went from fear to glee.

"You are messing with the wrong people, girl!"

Fists plummeted and legs kicked. She screamed and struggled, her hair got yanked and her clothes pulled. Pain was the catalyst, fear and anger spurred her on. There was a pulling from her core and then she flared, bright and blue.

The shape of her magic - _No, biotics._ \- was stronger, more brilliant than before. Suddenly it was easy, too easy. She could almost see its form in her mind. But she had no idea what she was doing, all she knew was she wanted them to back off.

And she just Pushed

The energy was released in a single explosive blast. The lights in the concourse shattered, the double door blown off its hinges and the four who hurt her slammed against walls. As quickly as the power came, it dissipated.

Nike was drained. She panted and fell to her knees.

It didn't take long before the others walked in. She could sense their slack jaw awe in the silence.

* * *

And that led her to the fighting ring, dressed in a black sports bra and a pair of black compression shorts. She clenched her fists to keep them from shaking. "Nike," Frank called from the other side of the orange barrier.

She looked at him. Her view of him was all tinted a bright orange. "Don't disappoint me," he said, his eyes hard despite the grin on his face.

Her jaw tightened, Nike cracked her knuckles, popping each in turn slow and deliberate. She nodded but she hadn't forgotten what he had done. However, standing in a cage moments before her debut fight, she had more important things to worry about. With a grunt, she pushed everything out of her mind. Instead, she looked at the shimmering barrier that bisected the ring. There was a boy her age standing across from her.

Something about him tickled the back of her mind. He was shirtless, dressed in a similar black shorts like her. His chest had a patch of red, leathery skin running up his left shoulder. His hair was so blonde, it looked white.

 _I remember you!_

It was the boy from the fight she witnessed during her first visit to the Underbelly. He fought and lost. Regardless, he was a veteran of the ring and of his abilities. She tracked the boy's movements as he bounced on his feet, working his limbs loose. She took a deep breath and mimicked him, not knowing what else to do.

The cheering crowd, the curious stares and the screaming bookies, all of it was overwhelming. It was near impossible to ease her own nervousness. She spotted Tenner gesturing at a bookie, hands pointing and waving as they spoke. Then, a chime sounded. She could barely hear over the chaos.

She remembered Frank's instructions.

"Give the bitch her bow," he said, pointing at the window where she was supposed to bow to. "I will take her seat one day. Today is merely the start of a new era for the Reds. And you, my girl, is my golden goose."

 _I'm a girl, not a damn bird._

She turned to face the window, keeping the boy in her periphery vision. The window was tinted black one moment and clear the next. A pair of sharp, calculating eyes looked down on them. Her eyes met the Dowager's for a split second. Nike swore Cixi's lips quirked upwards a little. Before she could process that little break in her almost bored expression, the boy started bowing. And she hastily followed suit.

Nike turned to face the boy. His blue eyes were dull and lifeless before, but had hardened when his eyes met hers. He bared his teeth at her. It was more than an eagerness to fight, underneath was sheer desperation. She licked her dry lips. He kept his eyes trained on her as they bowed to each other. The spot where her amp and implant laid under her skin tingled uncomfortably.

Time seemed to slow as she bought her fists up in a bad facsimile of the kung-fu movies she had watched in preparation for the fight. The house lights powered down, plunging the arena into darkness. A series of strong spot lights aimed at the ring, bathing the cage in orange and white.

Nike's heart slammed hard against her chest. The roar of the crowd faded and disappeared. Music started blaring through the speakers.

 _The time will come, when you will have to rise_

The barrier shimmered and fell.

 _Above the best, and prove yourself_

The boy let out a roar and rushed towards her.

 _Your spirit never dies_

She froze. _Shit._ Air rushed out of her lungs as he crashed into her, elbow against her jaw.

This was something completely different from the raids. There, she had weapons, the boys and the element of surprise. In the ring, against a foe far more experienced than herself, she had nothing.

The boy didn't press his advantage. Instead he stood and gave her space. _Is he toying with me?_ She cupped her throbbing jaw, tears threatening to spill down her face. She glanced over her shoulder, trying to look for the others, but the darkened house lights meant she saw nothing but the pitch black.

Fists up, standing again, she let out a roar to psych herself up. Her voice was thin and high. She grimaced in embarrassment when he laughed. Her gut clenched tighter and the pain spread to her lower abdomen. Ignoring it, she reached inwards. The dark energy lay coiled and ready. It leapt eagerly at her call. She wrapped it around herself. Blue flames flared bright and eye-searing.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" the crowd chanted.

She drew herself up. The roaring audience bolstered her confidence. With a Push against the cage behind her, she launched herself forward. Her fist leading the way. It connected against his torso. Fists flew, kicks landed, blows exchanged. Nike could barely figure out where she started, where he ended.

Pain seized her body as suddenly she was held aloft. "What?" she managed before even her throat froze.

She was floating in a nebulous blue cloud. In the absence of more strikes, her body was making its protests known. Blood was flowing from a gash on her forehead. Instead of dripping onto the floor, it floated next to her.

The boy glared at her, his face swollen and cut in places. He kept his body hunched as if straightening was impossible. One hand pressed against his side. She would have smirked if she wasn't in such a strange predicament.

 _I didn't know biotics can do this too._

"No more games!" the boy yelled, his voice hoarse and raspy, as if he smoked ten packs a day.

As abruptly she was yanked into the air, she fell. All she managed was a tiny scream before she landed on the floor, hard. Agony flashed across her side as air rushed from her lungs. She lay on her back gasping.

The boy advanced, teeth bared and fist drawn back. It flashed blue and came down. Panic forced her to move despite the spreading pain across her ribs. She rolled. And the fist slammed into the space her head had occupied. Fists and feet chased her, faster and faster. But there was only so much room in the ring. This was a losing battle. She was getting lightheaded. Her ribs hurt too much to take deep breaths. Her limbs were lead.

"Don't disappoint me." Frank's voice echoed in her head. Stitches' warning flashed across her mind. _I don't want to lose! I can't lose!_

Nike dug deep, summoning the dregs of her energy. Her amp throbbed and seared painfully in protest. With a growl, she launched herself at him. Her back hunched, her arms wrapped around his mid-section. She Pushed them clean across the ring. The air roared in her ears. What was seconds felt like minutes. He struggled and twisted. But her grip shifted to match. Nike locked her hands on his arm forcing it to stick out in an awkward angle. With a crash, they slammed against a column that generated the barrier.

Nike heard an audible crack. The boy screamed.

His arm was bent in an unnatural manner. She scrambled away from him, hand pressing against her ribs. Her lungs heaved as she stumbled to her feet. Blood, spit and sweat coated her body. She stared, mouth agape. He cradled his arm, shrieking in his raspy voice. As she tried to process what had happened, the crowd cheered. It drowned out all thought.

As the house lights snapped on, she realised she had won. The fight was over.

Her eyes searched for the others and found them hugging and jumping. One section on each side of the cage fizzled out. People from both teams entered. One in victory, the other in defeat. Nike stared as the boy was dragged off the ring by his handler.

She had no time for pity because Cutter hoisted her onto his shoulders. The crowd roared louder, chasing away all pain, doubts and fear. But deep inside, Nike knew. It was luck that she won. She was losing and completely outclassed. She should have lost.

Frank looked at her. He was sucking on a lollipop and he reached up to tousle her hair. "Good girl," he said.

Despite her ribs, she bent and took the lollipop out of his mouth and popped it into hers. With a smirk she asked, "So what is my cut?"

* * *

That day, everyone learnt her name. And it was celebrated. Hordes of people roared, "Nike! Nike! Nike!"

Cutter hoisted her up and down. Despite the motion sending shooting pain up her chest, she had the widest grin plastered on her face. Her arms held up high and everyone's acclamation rocked the Underbelly.

By the time she was back at the base, Nike was drained while the boys were riding on a high. Cutter and Scars were discussing how they were going to use their earnings, while Frank counted their winnings. Her stomach rumbled angrily as she trudged slowly behind them. In the end, she eschewed a shower, or even eating, and collapsed into her sleeping bag. Back pressed against the wall, she was snoring not a minute later.

Nike missed the knowing nod between Frank and Tenner.

But mere hours later, Nike woke with a terrible cramps across her lower abdomen and a strange wetness between her legs. She sat up, her hand patting on the wet spot. There was the unmistakable scent of iron in the air. With a groan, she activated her omni-tool. Everything was washed over in an orange tint.

She frowned. There was definitely a wet patch. She unzipped the sleeping bag and there was a larger patch underneath. Her heart quickened. The mess was the worst between her legs. Her abdomen clenched harder. She couldn't decided if her ribs hurt worse than her abdomen.

 _Maybe it is something else. I can't be bleeding. I would know, right?_

Her hand quivered as she reached to activate the torch function on her omni-tool. As soon as the light changed from orange to white, she screamed. Blood, everywhere. Red stained her shorts and sleeping bag. She was bleeding and it hurt so badly. Why?

 _This must be a dream, another nightmare. Wake up! Wake up!_

Scars jolted awake but growled, "Go back to bed, Nike. It's too early."

Cutter merely rolled over in his sleeping bag, mumbling in his sleep. "Go back to bed!" Frank yelled sleepily.

"No, but…" she stammered, struggling to her feet. "I'm bleeding."

"Bleeding?" Scars parroted groggily.

"Look!" she insisted.

He activated his own omni-tool and his eyes widened. "Boss, she is bleeding."

She hunched over as pain radiated upwards. Should she remain standing? Should she sit? The idea of sitting in her own blood repulsed her. This was different from skinning her knees while practising with Cutter, or getting cut on a raid, this was unknown, strange and unexpected. She didn't hear Frank getting to his feet, grumbling all the way.

Scars remained an arm's length away while the others roused from their sleep. Frank added his light to the mix. She jerked her head up and stared at him. Her eyes imploring his for answers. Something, anything to tell her this was ok. Another stab of pain made her sink into a sitting position, drawing her knees to her chest.

"What is happening?" she asked, her voice breaking.

Nike felt fear before, when she had no food for days, the slow creeping kind of fear that wormed its way into her heart, casting doubt she would ever find something to eat. There was also the heart pounding, adrenaline rush of fear when she went on raids. This was different from those. This was confusion and panic that her body had betrayed her. The one thing that worked all the time had failed her.

"You're sure you have no wound?" Scars asked.

Nike shook her head mutedly. Frank frowned and asked, "How old are you?"

She frowned, lower lip trembling. "What does it matter? I don't know!"

"Is this coming from between your legs?"

"Yes, maybe, I don't fucking know. What's going on Frank? It hurts!"

He chuckled after a beat. "You're just having your fucking period."

She froze. There was a name to this thing that was happening. It made things better, having a name to the problem. But there was only one problem. "What is a period?"

Frank made a face. "It's a thing… a function that girls have."

"Does it stop? Does it stop hurting?" she asked, her questions coming fast and frantic. "What do I do? How do I stop it?"

For once, Frank was at a lost for words. He turned and looked at the others. They either shrugged or shook their heads in response. "There is nothing you can do," he said eventually. "It will end when it ends. It can't hurt that much. Go back to bed. It will be better in the morning."

Without a word of comfort, Frank turned and went back to his sleeping bag. One by one, the others took their cue from him and did the same. Scars was the last still standing. Their eyes met.

"Scars," she called softly, her eyes wide and scared.

He shook his head and muttered, "Sorry. I don't know how to help."

Nike stood alone in the dark. Her omni-tool casting the only light in the vast space. The lump in her throat grew and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Her day of triumph was ending in the worst possible manner.

Her teeth caught her quivering lower lip and she left the base. Her pace was slow at first but as the motion warmed up her limbs, she went faster. Eventually she was running, alone, down the darkened streets of the Slums. Her pounding feet took her passed the crossroads and a familiar bark stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Burger?" she called out.

Nails scraped against asphalt. And a mutt with one floppy ear, one pointed ear stepped into the street. His nose twitched as he picked up the scent. She grimaced, knowing the stench was overpowering. Burger whined a little and approached. He remembered all the times she pushed him away and ignored him while they were on the streets.

"I'm sorry." she whispered, kneeling down.

Burger approached her cautiously. Eventually he put his head against her neck and she wrapped her hands around his fur. "What do I do?" she whispered.

The mutt pulled his head from her grip and licked her face heedless of the streaming tears and snot. His tongue lolling out of his mouth as he trotted off a little distance away. He looked back at her, tail swaying lightly. Nike got to her feet and followed.

They walked and walked. It was only when the familiar building loomed into sight, Nike realised Burger was leading her to Meg's.

 **Lyrics taken from Warriors by Imagine Dragons**


	11. Five Years

Chapter 11 - Five Years

 **WARNING: Unwanted advances from opposite gender**

Nike's arms hurt, her lungs were on fire, her head throbbed. There was nowhere she could feel pain that wasn't screaming at her in some way.

 _Fuck._

Her opponent smirked, bloody teeth on full display. He was the Dowager's latest acquisition, acquired from one of the smaller gangs. "That's all you got? Not much of a champion are you?" he smirked.

"I didn't win by mouthing off my opponent," Nike retorted. She watched, wary that this was all a distraction. "I win by _actually_ winning."

"Tomorrow, it won't be your name on their lips," he declared, lifting his hands and pointing at the crowd.

The crowd roared. The stage was vibrated with its intensity. "Down with the champion, down with the champion," the crowd chanted, feet stomping, hands clapping.

 _Shit. You can't fucking please everyone._

His eyes glinted with satisfaction, his prize almost within reach. Nike knew that look, she had the same one on her face many a time. It was over confidence.

 _But he just might fucking beat me._ Nike growled a noise of frustration. _None of this shit. You're the fucking champion, act the fucking part._

Though her strength was waning and her amp was burning, her only concession was releasing her hold on her biotics. If she didn't watch it, she would glitch big time on stage. _Fuck, anything but that._ The thought sent shivers down her spine.

He wasn't the toughest opponent she had met but Frank had been sending her out for daily fights. And the schedule was taking a toll. She sighed. It was the start of her successful run, a flawless record, that's how the nickname came about. She liked the ring of it.

"Remember my name, you should know whose name to curse when you lose," he taunted.

She laughed.

"Laugh it up, that hair mod will turn out to be a jinx for you," he retorted, blushing. "Red ain't going to be your lucky colour."

"Fuck off, boy," she growled. _If it isn't him, it's someone else. On and fucking on about the hair._

Nike had gotten a hair mod at the start of her winning streak. And that started the whispers. "Red is her lucky colour. When you see red, you know you will lose," or so it was said.

She just wanted hair that was red, hot flaming red. It cost her a good amount of credits. She even made sure to get it from Stitches, figuring he was a better bet than the ones hawking their wares down in the Underbelly. And suddenly the colour was irrevocable tied to her. If she lost now, she would never be able to live it down. Her reputation and winning streak was on the line.

He stuck two fingers into his mouth. His fingers jerked left and right. Eventually he grunted and pulled a tooth out of his mouth. "That's all you can do, break a fucking tooth."

Nike grimaced as he tossed the tooth in her direction. Music boomed overhead. The white enamel piece sailed in a parabola towards her.

 _You are a brick tied to me that's dragging me down  
Strike a match and I'll burn you to the ground_

The crowd's chants echoed in her head. She glared. Shoulders hunched, amp flashed hot as she pulled at her biotics.

 _We are the jack-o-lanterns in July  
Setting fire to the sky_

The tooth hit the floor. Two bodies surged forward, both in a blue haze. Hurtling, barrelling, head on, fist first.

 _Here, here comes this rising tide so come on  
Put on your war paint_

Two forces clashed and the biotic energy snapped outwards like a mini nova. The crowd roared louder than ever for their chosen fighter as they battled for supremacy.

* * *

"Nike!"

Pain flashed across her face as her head rocked from left to right. She blinked and surged upright. The motion made her world spun. She promptly twisted and emptied her stomach. A thin thread of saliva connected her mouth to the small puddle of half digested food. Her throat burnt as she spat. Speckles of blood coloured the mess of yellow and brown.

"I lost?" she groaned, rolling away from the mess.

"How out of it are you? Of course you lost," Scars spat. "Fuck, Frank is going to be pissed."

 _Yeah, he is going to fucking pissed._ She sat with her head between her knees, eyes squeezed shut as she prayed for the world to stop spinning. _Fuck._

"I thought I had him," she muttered. "What happened?"

"You guys knocked each other out with one of those flashy things you freaks do."

She grunted, indicating she was still listening, eyes still resolutely shut. Shoes shuffled left and right somewhere to her left. It was Scars' distinctive feet dragging gait.

"That sounds like a draw," she pointed out, pressing the heels of her palms against her temples.

"Since when the Dowager do draws?" Scars retorted. "She is the boss, she ruled you the loser."

"So I fucking lost on a technicality?"

"Fuck should I know what is a technicality, the point is," Scars growled, "you lost. Fuck, Frank is not going to be happy."

Something stuck her back. Nike bit back a groan. Lifting her head, she cautiously opened her eyes. It was slightly better. Her guts had stopped cramping. Her hands groped for the item that stuck her. It was her jacket. She was still dressed in her fight attire — shorts and sports bra.

Gone was the flat chested, scrawny kid. She was taller, toned and better fed. Her body had matured, it decided to grow mounds of flesh on her chest that were irritating and in the way at the best of times, sore and painful at the worst of times. It also grew hair where there were usually none. Her limbs lean and wiry, her body lithe and no longer on the edge of starvation. Five years of weekly fights would do that. She feasted when she won, denied care when she lost. It made her hard, it made her tough, it made her mean. She learnt fast to never lose. The Reds rose in their standing. They got better territory that meant Frank was happy, the gang grew, but most of all it meant Nike was safe.

 _But not today. I'm not safe today._

She ignored the dread that was crawling up her throat. Her hands shook with exhaustion as she dragged her arms into the sleeves and zipped the jacket up. She didn't need men ogling at these fucking mounds of flesh. She wasn't in any real condition to fend them off.

"I'm not going to be the one to tell him," Scars declared, continuing to pace. The pistol clipped to his belt flapping against his hip. "This is your fucking fault."

She concentrated on dragging her satchel towards her. Her hands were shaking hard, she needed something sweet and soon. A fight always took a lot out of her. She ripped the wrapper off the energy drink she had packed. Without pausing for a breath, she drained the bottle. Her hands were steadier now. Though her head still pounding, her body was aching all over, cuts and gashes were all making themselves known, she was mostly in one piece.

 _Five years, I ought to have learn how to defend myself better._

A loud smack echoed loudly in the empty fight ring. Her opponent was also being slapped awake by his handler. Even across the ring, she could see the shakes of a fellow biotic drained. The bloody mouth she gave him was a red streak across his face, she had a corresponding cut across her knuckles from his teeth. The Dowager had a larger team supporting her fighter, but the stakes were higher. One too many failure and they'll be out on the streets before they could blink.

Nike had been managing Frank's expectations well until now. After all, she was his fighter, his enforcer and his golden fucking goose. He needed her as much as she needed him.

Scars hadn't stop pacing, if anything he was getting more agitated as he wind himself up into a frenzy. Five years hadn't improved his ability to handle stress. She kept him in her peripheral vision as she watched the other team.

Her opponent, looking more boy than man under the harsh lights, was shouting. "I need it. I need it now!"

It was a familiar scene. He wasn't the only one that acted this way after a match. His handler slapped him. She flinched as the boy's head whipped violently to one side. It didn't stop his crazed begging. He was crying and desperate, snot and tears streaming down his face as he pleaded. "I can't hold on. I'm sorry I lost. I'm sorry. I will be better the next time. I will beat her. I swear. Please, please, please!"

His eyes found hers across the ring. If hatred could be made physical, she'd be dead. His wasn't the first pair that stared at her this way. Malice and enmity fuelled by the craving for Red Sand was unstoppable. Nike was one of the few fighters in the ring that didn't use and the only one who won consistently without it.

"Give it to him," she shouted, she didn't need another biotic deciding she was the reason they were not getting their fix.

The baleful eyes vanished in an instant. "Yes, give me. Give it to me. I'll tear the bitch limb from limb the next time."

 _Wow, way to bite the person trying to help you._

The Dowager's men growled menacingly while Scars hissed in her ears. "Why the fuck did you do that?"

"Don't worry, Scars. "I am fucking friends with Ci Xi," she replied, not bothering to keep her voice low.

The intake of breath from everyone else was unmistakable while the boy continued to claw at the handler's legs for his fix.

 _Fucking Red Sand._

Scars didn't wait. He hoisted her roughly to her feet, ignoring her yelp of pain or her struggles to pull her arm free. He all but dragged her off the ring. Nike stumbled along to keep from tripping. They made their way towards the pre-fight prep rooms. He pushed her against the nearest wall. Her arms thrown out to blunt the impact.

"What the hell, Scars?" she demanded as she braced herself against it to stay on her feet.

"Fuck Nike, you're in enough trouble as it is why do you have to antagonise them?" he growled, tossing the satchel at her feet. "I am not going to be the one who will tell Frank. You lose, it's your responsibility."

Nike snorted. "Like it is your responsibility to tell him when _I_ win?"

His eyes blazed as he grabbed the front of her jacket and pulled her close. "What about it, yeah?" he hissed. "I remembered the kid that cried about her first period. You are still that girl, don't you forget that!" His gaze softened, turning from anger to lust in an instant. "Unless…" he said suggestively, his eyes roving towards her chest where the zipper rest between her fucking fat mounds. "You could get on your knees and blow me. I'll be happy to report the loss in your stead," Scars offered.

His hand on her jacket relaxed as he grinned, anticipation and desire overwrote his mind. His hand hovered reaching towards her chest as Nike gritted her teeth. Her limbs were heavy and they were more anchors than extensions of her body. But revulsion curled her lips as she growled, shoving him into the crowd gathering around them, "Fuck off Scars. You are not man enough to touch me."

The crowd laughed, pushing him back towards her. His fair and still unblemished skin reddened brilliantly even as the bulge at his crotch grew. His hand neither retreated nor advanced while he sneered. "And what the fuck can you do about it, _girl_?" His eyes raked over her form lecherously making she edged away.

Nike eyed the crowd, most of them ogled, some of them eager for the impending fight. Some of them recognised her, she could see the fingers pointing at her hair. _Again with the fucking hair._ Those that did pulled their friends away. There was more than a few whispers of "she is a biotics, we should get out of here."

She grinned and pulled at the tattered remains of her biotics. "This!" She flared blue and with a snap of her hand, she pressed a single finger against his chest. Nothing happened. He flicked his eyes at her and laughed. "What is _this_?" This is—"

He flew backwards, taking some innocent bystanders with him, like a horse kicked him in the chest. With a solid thump, he collided against the wall ten metres baxk. He landed awkwardly and screeched. Nike rolled her eyes. A bump and he was groaning like he was stabbed. She folded her arms across her chest and glared.

"Fuck you, Nike. Keep your pussy. Nobody wants it anyway. I was going to do you a favour and make you a woman. No fucking way. You're fucked, bitch!"

"A couple more 'fucks' from your mouth won't get you anywhere to getting fucked," Nike retorted.

But the coward didn't bother replying even as the crowd laughed at his expense. He stalked off. Her head was pounding harder than before. _Maybe I shouldn't have done that._

But she gritted her teeth and glowered at the crowd. "Show's fucking over. What the fuck do you want to see? Someone's volunteering to be the next one?" she demanded.

The crowd seemed to shrink back as one before quickly dispersing. Nike hid her grimace, her amp flared hot from that ill-advised biotic show. It was burning skin and flesh. Vaguely she wondered if it was BBQ she was smelling or the scent of her flesh being cooked from the inside out. _Please don't glitch, just don't_

Gritting her teeth she grabbed her satchel and shuffled out the Underbelly with a stick of cigarette stuck between her lips, puffs of smoke trailing after her.

* * *

Five years was a long time.

Five years since her first fight. Five years since her body decided she suddenly was a woman. Five years that proved Stitches' warnings true. When it came to Frank she knew where she stood, the Golden Goose but at the same time the target of his ire.

The others were varying degrees of comrades. Cutter, she got along well, a shared love of blades and all manner of sharp objects was the way they bonded. That and a shared cigarette from time to time. Scars and Tenner had never looked at her the same after she came into her womanhood. And that just made her skin crawled. While Scars was merely creepy and sometimes too stupid for his own good, Tenner was always ready with his words to put her and the others down because they were mere muscle and brawn. But lines were drawn and they were clear. Nike kept within them. And she kept them all happy by winning=.

 _Win and you're safe. Just win. Just never stop winning._

Well, that didn't happened today. She stopped, one hand clinging onto the links of the fence outside the base. She hawked up blood and spat, a cut on her tongue the cause of her troubles. before limping on as best she could. The gate was within sight. She sighed. There was always a couple of kids hanging around the perimeter, too young for the Reds, but Frank and the others never failed to find uses for them. One didn't need to pay tithe for freelancers after all.

As Nike approached, one kid hurried over. He had been hanging around for the past couple of weeks. "Champion! Did you win? Did you keep your winning streak?"

Another sigh escaped her lips, she was too tired these high-energy kids. "Kid," the word felt like it weighed at a ton.

"Tony," the boy replied. "My name is Tony."

"No it's not," Nike retorted, leaning heavily against the gate, the look outs watching the excharge. "It's Tiny."

The boy was torn between annoyance having been made fun of and the thrill of the attention he wanted. In the end, the novelty of speaking with the Champion seemed to win out. "Oh man, I got to tell the others. I got a nickname from the Champion!"

 _Oh fuck, what have I done?_

"Do you need help, do you need anything?" Tiny asked, bouncing around her. "You're bleeding. I can help fetch some medi-gel." The boy jumped and darted about like his pants was on fire. Nike trudged into the base, she had no patience for him.

"Boy!" she barked.

He snapped to attention, his eyes shiny and wide.

 _Eager, he is so fucking eager. And young._ You were young once she reminded herself. _But not like this. I actually had a sense of self preservation._ But if he stuck with you, he would get protection from the others, her brain helpfully supplied. _Fuck, I'm talking to myself. I must have taken a harder blow to the head than I expected._

Nike dug around in her satchel and pulled a credit chit out. She scanned it with her omni-tool. 30 credits the display blinked at her. A couple of taps later, the credit chit held a balance of 100 credits. Enough for a couple of days or for a couple of kids if he'd share. "Here," she tossed the chit at him.

Tiny snatched it out of the air.

"Do you have somewhere to sleep?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Safe?"

Another nod.

"All right, keep the chit safe."

"Come on, Champion I've been living on the streets, I know how to keep myself safe," he retorted.

 _Confident little shit._ She shook her head as the boy took off with a laugh. His mission accomplished.

 _I must be a fucking sap if I'm starting to hand out credit chits. Ok, no more decision making till I get some sleep._

She turned towards the base and dread was clutching at her chest again. A loss was never taken lightly. What was the good of a fighter if they lost? Having the moniker of Champion meant Nike had more to live up to. She reached up and touched the bulge at the base of her skull, it was still warm to the touch. The amp laid underneath her skin, connected to the implant that was linked straight to her brain stem. At least that was what the extranet told her. It worked and it worked well but she could never use it for extended periods. Overuse only meant glitching. The mere contact of touch on her amp sent shooting pain up her head. Hissing, she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Nike, is that you?"

She jerked her head up. She couldn't afford a show of weakness among the Reds, especially with the new members. Despite how much her muscles and bones protested, she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders.

It was Cutter. She sagged a little. "You look like shit," he stated, standing with his hands on his hips, making no move to help her.

"I feel like shit," she admitted, pushing off from the gate and started limping inside.

"Do you need Stitches?" he asked as he walked next to her, scratching at the thick bush he called a beard that covered his cheeks and chin.

Nike was expected to stand and fall on her own two feet. She was 15, she had been pulling her own weight since she joined, more so after she started winning regularly. Yes, they operated in a bigger capacity. With the Dowager expected a higher cut, her winings from the ring contributed a significant part of the Reds' operational costs. All of this was explained to her by Tenner when she wanted a larger cut of her winnings.

"Nah, I just need some medi-gel, a shower, a shit ton of food and eight hours in the sack."

"After you report to Frank, yeah?"

She didn't reply. She had hoped to put it off as long as she could. "He isn't in, is he?" she asked lightly.

Cutter's eyes met hers. Something strange flickered at the back of his brown eyes, something akin to pity. "He is in."

Nike deflated.

"And he is not in a good mood."

 _Fuck._ She sighed. "All right, I'll clean up and see him."

"He wanted me to get you."

"Aww, fuck," she cursed. "Can't I even get cleaned up?"

Cutter shrugged "He wants you now."

She pulled the sleeves that gathered at her elbows down, covering the gashes and cuts she picked up from the fight. One cursory wipe of a sleeve over her face to clear it of any dried blood and sweat. Her hair was a mess, too short for a proper ponytail, too long to be kept effectively out of her face. There was nothing she could do to improve the news she was going to give. A loss was a loss after all. It didn't matter how pretty the face the words are coming out of.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Five years, the base had been steadily upgraded. The fence was mended, all 'side entrances' sealed. With more credits, they no longer had to share the communal sleeping space. More rooms and showers were restored. The inner circle got individual rooms with doors that locked. Not that it was much use in a gang which had some of the best lock pickers in the Slums. Nike, being one of the inner circle but the youngest, got the smallest room. She didn't mind, she enjoyed the privacy especially when Scars and Tenner seemed to think she would let one or both of them take her eventually.

She tossed her satchel into her room and closed it. Shoulders drawn back, jaw set, ready as she would ever be for what was to come. Cutter led the way. Passed the communal sleeping area they used to sleep in, now shared among 20 other members that joined in the intervening years.

Frank kept the Reds small. He trusted Scars and Cutter to keep them in line. But in reality she was the unspoken threat if anyone stepped out of line. Biotics was after all basically magic. What they did hadn't change. Protection money racket, defending their base from raids and raiding anyone else. The Reds grew in stature, in influence and power. All of these flew over Nike's head. She didn't know and she didn't care to know. Her job as she saw it was to keep her head down and continue to rake in the credits. Her situation wasn't fantastic, but it was familiar, the rules were clear. The fights were exhilarating, the cheering crowd that chanted her name made her blood sing. She was strong and powerful. In that space she was the queen and she ruled with her fists.

Cutter stopped right in front of the door. This door was, unlike the others, metal. He rapped his knuckles against it. It thumped solidly. There was a buzz and the magnetic lock was disengaged.

Paranoia, Nike would called it if she hadn't defend their base against raids. With power and influence, came enemies. She had her own in the ring, Frank had his everywhere else. Cutter pushed the door opened and allowed her to enter first. All the better to prevent her from escaping, not that she would if she intended to keep her place in the Reds.

 _Starting over is not an option. Leaving is never possible. Being top dog is better than being prey._

Her sneakers squeaked a little against the floor. The door clanged shut up behind her. A chill ran down her spine. The first section was lined with rifles and pistols. All of them purchased from dealers beyond the Slums. All the better not pay the Dowager her due. Some of them old school, still using regular bullets. Others modern, those used heatsinks. The inner circle got the new stuff, the others got the old stuff. Nike's own pistol was tucked in the small of her back at her waistband.

Beyond that was Tenner and his desk. It was dominated by a terminal the likes she had only seen in advertisements. He looked up as she approached. A pair of eyes raked her body, a flicker of lust made his lips curl. "I like that look on you, Nike. That red hair, man. It's a thing."

Nike rolled her green eyes, not deigning to give him a response. _Fuck the hair._ She never regretted a decision more. She wished she never had the idea in the first place, especially after Stitches told her the hair mod was a dud and was permanently stuck on red.

Tenner waited, hand stretched out towards her. He was expecting a credit chit that held their winnings. She shook her head. "I lost," two words to explain the entire situation.

He frowned. "Fuck, Nike what's wrong with you? You were winning. It's an almost year long streak."

"Hey, Tenner, if winning was so easy, why don't you go fight?" she growled. "This shit is hard."

"This is exactly what we keep you around for. Your losses are fucking with my plans. And you know what this means, don't you?" Tenner spat.

He stood, straightening to his full height. Carefully he re-positioned his glasses, chest puffing but Nike was unimpressed. She rushed up to him before Cutter could stop her. Her nose reached his chin as she tilted her head up to glare at him. Her chest mere centimetres away from his. She balled left hand and positioned it right under his jaw. His pulse throbbing visibly against his temple.

"Nike," Cutter warned.

"Stay out of this, this is between me and four eyes," she growled, not sparing Cutter a glance.

Neither was willing to back down as the seconds ticked by. "What are you going to do about it? You hide behind us, me. You're hardly on the frontlines. You're always safe. What do you know about risking your scrawny neck?"

Tenner's eyes narrowed. He snorted. "Short-sighted, that's what you are. All brawn, no brains. You're too stupid to understand my plan, our plans."

Nike bristled, taking another step forward, forcing Tenner to step back or risk her fist. "Say that again, I fucking dare you. Say I'm stupid one more fucking time." The thought of punching the smirk off Tenner's face was getting more appealing by the second.

 _I should just hit him anyway. What does it matter? I'm going to give Frank bad news already. It's not like I can get into more trouble._

But he took another step back and folded his hands across his chest. A sneer curling his lips as he looked at her pityingly. "Stupid girl."

Indignation and fury rose in her chest. "Fuck you Tenner! Fuck you!" She surged forward, ignoring all the aches and pain. _It'll be worth it. When I smash his face in he will never think I'm stupid again. What does he know? All numbers and tech, what the fuck does he know? I fucking had to teach myself everything!_

Her arm drew back, but her forward swing was halted when a large hand wrapped around her arm. Cutter put his other arm around her neck and tightened. She coughed and struggled, furious.

"Leave me go!" she rasped.

Anger could only sustain her for so long. She was spent both physically and biotically. And even as pissed as she was, she wasn't foolish enough to unleash her biotics in here of all places. Cutter didn't speak. He went on tightening his hold around her throat. She coughed harder as her airway got crushed under his muscled arm. Her vision was rapidly tunnelling. Nike went limp, tapping her free hand on his arm. Cutter loosened his hold a fraction. "Are you calm enough? Got your head straight yet?" he rumbled.

She nodded gasping for air when he let her go. Nike bent forward, elbows on knees as she coughed. Tenner chuckled, but it was instantly terminated when Cutter growled. "Shut up, four-eyes. She isn't wrong. You don't know the risks we take. You don't get to be all high and fucking mighty on us."

Tenner spluttered. "You—"

Cutter bared his teeth and Tenner's mouth clamped shut. Nike smirked, rubbing her throat to ease the pain. _It was fucking worth it._

Knowing he was outnumbered, he spat, "Report to Frank. He is waiting."

Nike sobered up immediately. he nudged her and she stumbled forward. As she stepped into Frank's office, Cutter didn't follow.

Frank's grey eyes narrowing as soon as she stepped in. There was no doubt he had heard every word uttered outside. "So you lost?" he asked, his voice deceptively even and calm.

Nike knew his temper was barely held in check. The tension in the room was unmistakable. She had plenty of opportunities to see his cold fury up close and personal before. What she used to think of as protectiveness, she now knew was something far more dangerous. His cold gaze fell on her. She straightened, biting back the grimace as her body protested.

"Yeah."

He sighed and rose to his feet. Nike stiffened, desperately seeking the comfort of having her biotics buzzing under her skin. It was her last line of defence. She clawed at her biotics and found the well dry, horribly dry.

He approached, all world weary and tired. Without warning, pain exploded across her cheek. Her head whipped to the side and back again. Frank looked at the rings on his hand. One of them was stained red. Nike pressed a hand against her cheeks. It came away red. One of his rings had raked a line across her face.

"Looks like I was right to add another fighter to the stable," he remarked.

"What?" she frowned.

"Krycek," Frank called, ignoring her.

A door off to the side opened and a teen entered. He was no older than she was. A head filled with hair so blonde it looked white. Nike stared at him and her eyes widened. "You."

Krycek grinned. "Yes, me," he rasped.

 **Lyrics Taken from The Phoenix from The Fall Out Boy**


	12. Herald of Change

Chapter 12 - Herald of Change

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Nike growled.

Frank took another swipe at her face but this one she saw coming. She ducked out of the way. He lunged after. His taller frame only served his reach. One hand snagged her hair roughly as his knee slammed into her crotch. He laughed. "That'll teach you for losing."

As she fell to her knees, hands pressed against the floor as she curled around the blow. Tears streaming from her eyes, she bit back a groan. Her legs were jelly as she fought to stand again. Krycek's smirk swam in her vision as she dashed the tears furiously away.

* * *

Through the years Frank was alternatingly vicious and sweet towards her. She never really know which side she'll get. But he'd always bring one of the street walkers home and be in a foul mood for hours later.

Nike remembered one such event.

The door to his office clanked open. The street walker scampering out, her dress in tatters, her face bruised. "Get away from me, you one testicle freak!"

Scars, herself and a couple of the younger members were present. Frank stalked through the door like a thundercloud. He was tall and muscular, his presence was always menacing. More importantly, he never took embarrassment lightly. Surreptitiously, Nike signalled for the others to go as she edged towards the door. She didn't intend to hang around. With Frank's mood this way, it could easily be re-directed to any one of them.

Whimpers and shoes scraping against concrete rang out as the street walker, with makeup running down her face, attempted to escape.

"Nike!"

She spun around. The street walker was headed straight for her and she was at the threshold. "Sorry," she whispered as she caught the street walker roughly.

One punch and a twist of limbs later, Nike had the woman restrained. "Please, please, please," the street walker cried. "Let me go. He is crazy."

She schooled her features into one of indifference. Her answer was a tightened grip. The street walker struggled and screamed, but Nike despite being shorter had the trained strength to hold her still. Frank shot a look at the others and growled, "Get out!"

They needed no other reminder. One curt gesture at Nike, Frank turned back towards his office. The street walker locked her knees, refusing to walk. Nike lacked the leverage to dislodge her. "Scars," she called out. "A little help?"

"You're on your own," came the instant reply and steps that receded as the door slammed shut.

 _Asshole._

"Please, just let me go, I have credits. Just take it, just take it," the street walker begged continuously like a prayer. But Nike had no choice.

"Bring her!" Frank barked.

She pushed and met it was with more resistance. She sighed and pulled at her biotics. Her amp stuttered and spiked painfully. _Stupid thing._ She hissed as she tried to shove the street walker. There was zero finesse and all power. It was as gentle as she could manage. She was used to giving 110% or nothing at all. The street walker flew the entire length of the communal sleeping area, sliding to a stop at Frank's feet. The grin on his face was primal. Nike shuddered as he dragged the groaning street walker to her feet. She watched as he retreated with the street walker to his office.

The next day, Nike saw Cutter and one of others dragged a bloody beaten pulp of a body out of Frank's office. "Dead?" she asked apprehensively.

"Almost." Cutter replied.

She was responsible. She knew it. _I had to. I have no choice._ And so, the guilt was quickly locked away and sealed.

* * *

Frank placed an arm over Krycek's shoulder as he said, "He is the latest addition to the Reds."

Nike's lips curled. _That's obvious enough._ Krycek and her crossed swords plenty of times. He was her first battle, her first win. He was the only other fighter in the ring that was as young as she was then. But she hadn't seen him in the ring for the past year. She figured he had been claimed by the streets or Red Sand. It didn't make a difference, they were the same thing.

"Despite your success, I've decided to take out an insurance policy on you. And looks like you have proven me right," Frank went on.

"I am said insurance policy," Krycek explained as if she was stupid.

Nike bristled as she straightened and sneered, "You? I've beaten you so many fucking times. How are you anyone's idea of an insurance policy?"

Frank let go of Krycek and circled back to his desk. Nike watched, hoping they didn't notice the tremble in her limbs. She was exhausted and in pain. There was nothing she wanted more than to down a couple bottles of sugary drinks and sleep. Frank opened a drawer and retrieved a vial.

Her eyes widened. She couldn't help the gasp that escaped.

"I see you know what this is."

A syringe joined the vial. Fear thrummed in her chest. Her jaw tightened. "No."

Frank narrowed his eyes. "This is a formula Stitches made just for you and now Krycek. It will boost your biotics ten fold. Just a little jab, that's all."

Blood drained from her face. "No," she repeated, shuffling away.

No matter what Stitches might claim, no matter what it potentially could do, Nike didn't care. It was Red Sand at its base, pure and simple. The reddish particles swirled around in the vial. She had seen the havoc it wrecked in fighters, in regular people. It was a drug that stole credits, devoured lives and destroyed souls. Nike wouldn't touch the stuff even if she was paid to do so.

 _And Frank fucking knows this._

Frank shook the vial and if she wasn't so afraid, she might find the red particles swirling around pretty, like a snow globe. Yet another one of those things she had never seen with her own eyes before. She tracked his hand as he picked up the syringe. It was a simple stab of the needle into the vial. A smooth pull of the plunger and it was filled. He grinned, showing all his teeth, wide and predatory.

"If you can't keep winning, this will help," he said, advancing towards her. "Help that I can provide."

Her heart slammed against her chest as she weighed her odds. A biotic, possibly fresh with a well filled to the brim. Frank, with his size, reach and strength. A door, solid and closed behind her. Her biotics drained and her amp burning and sparking under her skin.

 _I can't run. If I didn't glitch, it will be a miracle._

He pushed the plunger after tapping a finger against it, ridding it of air bubbles. Some of the formula squirted out and Nike flinched. Frank laughed. She pulled her hands tight by her side, her hands balled into fists. Her breaths got faster and shallower. Panic was a rising tide inside her chest.

Frank grabbed the front of her jacket. He tugged, but she planted her feet and didn't budge. His eyes hardened. It was both a question and a warning. He tugged again, harder this time. The fight went out of her. Nike stumbled towards him. She ground her teeth together as he traced a finger along her jawline, fighting the urge to jerk away. He brushed her hair aside gently, exposing the messy scar at the base of her skull. The one that came from the surgery that almost killed her. He hissed as his finger touched the spot. "Why is it so hot?"

She didn't answer. The contact sent a stab up her head. Krycek looked on with interest. Frank looked at her as if she was responsible for his burn, but the look came and went. He bent over. "Stitches say the best spot is…"

His mouth right by her ear. "Right…"

Words were hot air against her skin. "By…"

Needle trailed up her neck towards her amp. "The…"

The sharp point stopped right at the base of her scar. "Amp…"

Nike held her breath, praying, beseeching for an intervention. Gods didn't existed for her. No help came.

Frank straightened, the needle withdrew. She stared at him, confused and jittery from the unspent adrenaline. She didn't trust him enough to relax. _There must be something more. Something else!_

He laughed like she had done a great trick, dropping the syringe back onto the table. "Nike, Nike, girl," he said, "this is why I keep you around. You know who's the boss around here."

Her eyes darted between Frank and the syringe, unable to believe her luck. He reached out and tugged her towards him again, his face shoved right against her own. "But mark my words, I will not tolerate failure. You are the Champion. Be one," he placed emphasis on the last word. "Another failure, you know what your choices are"

Nike nodded mutely. Her shoulders slumped as she staggered away from Frank. She had forgotten all about Krycek. He swooped in and grabbed the syringe off the table and plunge it into his amp. He couldn't quite reach the right spot, but it didn't faze him. Before either of them could react, he depressed the plunger and the contents emptied into his blood stream. The syringe clattered to the floor as his eyes fluttered shut.

Nike backed away. There was no telling what the fuck would happened, especially with an experimental concoction like this. Frank watched with interest while she waited with horror.

Krycek remained standing though he started to sway. She could sense it before she see it. The air seemed to electrify. There was a crackle and Krycek was bathed in blue. Biotic energy made everything not bolted down hover in the air for a split second before they fell again. His eyes snapped open and he roared, "I feel good!"

Nike cringed away as he started to pace as if standing still with this much energy coursing through his veins was impossible. His eyes took on a blue hue. Biotic surged and licked across his body. Krycek flicked his hand, directing the energy at the nearest object. It slammed against the wall and shattered. The wall had a slight dent from the impact.

Frank grinned wider. He pointed at his chair. Another flick of Krycek's hand, it rose and slammed against the wall with ease. Krycek laughed. "This works. This stuff is better than the Dowager's. I'll fucking show how wrong she was for throwing me out!"

Nike didn't need any more trouble, but she didn't want to stay and watch him crash as they all inevitably do. As she turned the knob to go, Krycek shouted, "Champion, what you won't do, I would. We shall see who is the real Champion. You won't keep your throne for long."

She turned and met his eyes. The blue flickered across his irises, was unnatural and it always came with a cost, one that she wasn't willing to pay. "Whatever floats your boat, Krycek. Welcome to the Reds," she said and left.

* * *

Fire, heat and pain. Children staring at the only home they had ever known. Whimpering and weeping filled the air, providing a counterpoint to the crackling flames that consumed the structure.

She levered herself upright and stared. Eyes tracing what was once familiar made unfamiliar. She gasped, her burns and pain all forgotten for a moment. The lightening sky revealed the extent of the damage.

A transport craft had cut a thick path through the neighbourhood. The wing had sliced into the orphanage and cutting through it like a hot knife through butter. Fire blazed strong and hot. It had burst glass and devoured everything along at that side.

A breath of relief escaped her mouth. "Luck, that's all just luck."

Her sleeping hall was on the opposite side of the destruction. She picked her way through parts of the collapse and escaped. In that moment, as young as she was she knew how little she mattered.

One day turned two then three. There was no help, no emergency services. Nothing. The fire had burnt itself out. Her home was now a blackened husk, teetering on the edge of completely falling in on itself. She didn't understand it then why there were no adults coming to help, to tell her what to do. Among the survivors, she was by no means the oldest, but all of them looked as lost as she did.

Hunger tugged at her as she absently scratched around her healing burnt skin. She straightened and winced as the wound pulled. One last look cast upon her once home, she started walking.

And she never stopped.

She was on a path long before her birth, her creation, It diverged when a woman intervened when she was but a baby. Now after the fire, her path was forking again. She set out for a destination she didn't know, a fate yet unknown. The fire took more than a home from her, it took her name, her past and all connections to it. Her memories of the place forever sealed in her mind, too confusing and painful to sift through.

In that the moment she was born anew of flames.

* * *

Nike jolted upright, confusion rippling through her head as she groaned. She remembering speaking to Frank. The image of a needle and vial flashed, a still image pressing against her consciousness, she shuddered. Her body hurt and why was her bed so hard? She was face down, limbs sprawled out against something cold and unyielding. Rolling over she realised, she was lying on the floor. Her bed was a mere metre away her.

"Shit," she spat as she scrubbed her face with her hands. "I glitched."

Nike had blacked out, again. This time, she had completely missed the bed she was aiming for. Sighing, she pushed herself into a sitting position, her hands touching her amp. It was cold and inert again. Gingerly she touched her forehead and found a big bump. Nothing new there. Ever since she got her amp, she suffered from these seemingly random bouts of blacking out, or glitching as she called them. It was usually worse after she drained herself. This was exactly why she wanted to sleep before doing else.

 _Sleeping a kind of blacking out, isn't it? A safer kind._

She could already feel the tightening over her temples. A headache after an episode was inevitable and she had resigned herself to it. Her muscles stiff and tight as she stood. Hastily she pressed a hand at the nearest solid object to steady herself. Her stomach growled reminding her that it wasn't fed the entire day, unlike an ungrateful cat.

 _First a shower, then food, then work._

Nike checked her door and was relieved to find it still locked. Thank gods she wasn't so incapacitated to forget about it before collapsing. There was no way in hell Frank was going to tolerate his champion being a broken puppet. One that was prone to headaches, nose bleeds and complete black outs. It was the one secret she had to keep at all cost. The Reds was all she knew. It was fucked up at times, but she was safe. She knew where the lines were. She was the top dog here, outside she was a target. Now with Krycek all ready to step into her place despite his less than stellar fight record, she had to be doubly careful.

One moment Nike was a hunched back broken figure of a Champion shuffling around in her room. The next moment, she was straight back, confident and all hard edges. There was no room for error.

* * *

Despite not needing to collect protection money any longer, it was now a job for the younger Reds, Nike still enjoyed walking the markets. Taking what she fancied and making sure everyone still knew who to fear. Frank wasn't above using her as a boogeyman when Cutter wasn't intimidating enough.

 _I guess now he has a crazy dog to help with that too._

She huffed, kicking a soda can down the street as she munched on a stick of satay.

Kick, munch, kick, munch.

When the satay was done, she made sure to lick every last bit of peanut sauce from around her lips. She flicked the stick off to the side. Her hands dug around her pockets for her cigarettes. It was a habit she picked up from Cutter and the others.

Hitting the pack against her fist a couple of times before she fished a stick out. Trapping the filter between her lips, she rummaged her pockets for her lighter. Its brushed metal finish was all worn down by use. It thunked solidly when she flicked the cover open. A quick brush of her thumb down the flint wheel, sparks flew and a flame burst to life. Nike suppressed a flinch. Fire always did that to her. She lit her cigarette. The red consumed the lit end as she sucked. She drew the smoke into her lungs and held it. _Detox by retox, didn't some lyrics say that?_ The sharp taste of burnt grass was bitter on her tongue. A flash of a burning building, a sudden overwhelming sense of loss flashed through her mind. She blinked and the sensation was gone.

Nike shook her head and she exhaled. With each stick burnt to the butt, she relaxed marginally. Tension from the daily battles, the blade that hung over her head and the glitch eased a notch. Clouds of smoke trailed behind her before they got taken away by the warm breeze. Despite demolishing half a pack in quick succession, she was still restless. Frank's threat was real. He had been harder on her ever since the winning streak started.

Nike sighed. There was only one thing she could realistically do. Her muscles were sufficiently warmed up from the walk and food. She stretched and tapped her omni-tool for some music. She took a deep breath and started jogging, setting a fast pace as she went.

This was her home. Streets lined with emptied, rundown buildings. Her feet pounded the pavement hard. She ran passed the posters which she now knew were just advertisements, not the pictures of glorious heroes.

 _Can you feel it running inside you  
Can you dream it now as if its beside you_

Street walkers returning from a busy night. Red Sand addicts that had fallen asleep on the ground. She passed the advertisement that she took her name from and couldn't help running her hand across it. The image now bleached colourless by the sun and time.

 _You will taste it if you can be patient  
The more you believe the more you'll create it_

Nike was no longer the naive girl, barely able to read. She wasn't the fiery slip of a girl, sleeping on the streets, stealing to survive.

 _We'll be rising in a new horizon  
A place of freedom defined by your reason_

She was a biotic fighter, a champion of the ring. Feared and revered by the gangs. Apart and alone within the Reds. Nike wasn't exactly happy, but she was content. Her life, as it was now, was something she had worked for. It was paid for in blood, both hers and others.

 _Take the power its yours to claim  
The more you believe the more you create_

But with Krycek's arrival, Nike knew he was the herald of change.

* * *

Sweat made her hair damp, her jacket was making her too hot. She tossed onto a nearby crate. Pacing a little as she cooled off.

This was her space. A little old basketball court behind a row of what used to be apartment blocks. They used to belong to one of the smaller gangs, but the Reds had cleared them out early in their rise. Now it was hers. Frank had wanted her to get good with her biotics, but with just a command and nobody to seek help from, she fell back to seeking answers from the extranet. And it delivered, somewhat.

The wall that the basketball court was set flushed against bore marks of her training. Bricks cracked in parts, completely crumbled in others. Concrete was as scarred as her arms and legs. Every single one earned in the ring or the battle field.

Nike stripped down to her sports bra and shorts. She set about clearing her training field of loose debris, noticing it was cleaner than usual despite not visiting it in a while. Absently, she filed the observation aside. She removed her shoes and started stretching. There was a new trick she was trying to master. She wanted to put it to use the next time she faced her opponents.

She started with the basics — barriers, pushes and pulls. She used everything around her. Small debris to chunks of bricks and benches that used to be bolted to the concrete floor. She always started small before moving her way up to heavier things. It was like limbering up a muscle. And this particular muscle had been sorely taxed for months. _I could have fucking won the fight if Frank hadn't farm me out to fights like a fucking dog._

Learning how to use her biotics via the extranet was a hit and miss experience at best. Fighters of the ring hoarded their knowledge like dragons with treasure. Watching vids and listening to rank amateurs attempting to verbalise the subtleties of various techniques didn't a fighter make. Though she did find so many funny vids of biotics gone wrong. If she didn't have Frank riding on her about it, sending her into fight after fight, each win eked out by the skin of her teeth, she might have spent all her time watching those vids. Nike fell back on instincts and self experimentation. This court had suffered its share of her frustration fuelled tantrums, but her whoops of triumph had echoed against its walls too. At first, her studies had an edge of desperation, she didn't want to be constantly put into sink or swim situations. But she got competent and later, good. _More than fucking good._

Nike had a sheen of sweat coating her skin. Against the afternoon sun, she looked like a lean bronze statue, bathed in blue. She padded to one end of the court after positioning a can at the midway point as a marker. Once she was at the edge of the court, she took another twenty steps backwards, having to step into the grass for that. She exhaled sharply, once, twice and thrice.

She kicked off, running onto the court. Pulling at her core, her biotics flared to life. Then, she willed herself to be _there_. The world rushed past her in a swoosh. Nike blinked and realised she was halfway to the marker. Her heart was racing half in exertion, half in excitement.

"Fuck, it worked," she panted. "It fucking worked."

She traced her steps back to the starting point and geared up for a second attempt. The same steps, the same sharp exhales and the run. As she flared, a sharp whistle followed by cheering made her jerk to a stop. One hand extended, she whirled, ready for an ambush.

"Do that again!"

It was Tiny, and he wasn't alone.

 **Lyrics taken from Believe by Mitch King**


	13. The Strays

Chapter 13 - The Strays

Nike forced herself to release her biotics. Her heart still slammed against her chest, insisting there was danger. "What the fuck are you doing here?" she demanded, frowning.

She counted three heads, Tiny and two unfamiliar girls. The kids were leaning against the wall on the second level of the apartment block directly overlooking the basketball court turned training ground. Though Tiny was one of the latest among the many runts hanging out outside the base, he was the only familiar face among them. Scars and the others had no qualms using him as a runner. But that didn't mean he wasn't a spy from some other enterprising gang looking for intel.

 _But he looks so damn young, no older than six. A spy at six? Still, it's probably best to be safe than sorry._

Nike reached behind, her left hand seeking the pistol tucked into her waistband. Her eyes darted towards the two exits at both ends of the basket ball court. They were still clear.

"Why did you stop?" Tiny asked, his fingers clinging to the edges of the wall to keep himself propped on the half-wall.

The older Caucasian girl with dirty blonde hair swatted at Tiny. The boy lost his balance in his attempt to avoid it and disappeared out of view as he landed heavily on the ground. His dramatic moans were loud and long as it echoed across the empty apartment block.

"What the fuck are you _all_ doing here?" she repeated, her tone harsher.

The older girl flinched and disappeared out of view. Nike's grip on the pistol tightened. The South East Asian younger girl with black hair was tugged down out of view as well. With all three gone, she couldn't help the tingle of danger crawling up her spine.

"Now what?" she muttered under her breath.

She couldn't decide if they were a danger. Well, not physically but if they were spies, she shouldn't leave them be. They were on Reds' territory after all. But they were just kids, what could they possibly do? Her thoughts ran in circles inside her head. _I didn't come here to have another headache._

Tiny wasn't going anywhere without a fight. "No, I want to watch! I don't want to go home. It is so boring!" His protests loud, but midway through his whining it was muffled as if someone had covered his mouth with a hand. "Stop it! I'm Tiny now. The Champion gave me a nickname. I'm cool, not like you!"

Nike sniggered. The boy was surely a handful. A scruff of shoe against concrete caught her attention. She twisted and drew her pistol. Nothing seemed amiss, but she knew what she heard. She didn't become one of most feared member of the Reds for nothing.

"I know you're there," she shouted. "Come out."

Nothing moved. Even Tiny's voice was silenced. Her eyes narrowed. Being on bare feet enabled her to move quickly and, more importantly, quietly. One glance at the second level yielded nothing. There were only two ways out, barring going through the abandoned apartment building. She weighed her choices. It was a single scruff, unlikely to be a rival gang's ambush, though that had happened before. It sounded more like a solitary scout at best.

 _Are Tiny and the girls in on it? Being kids didn't mean they are not acting for a gang. I was dangerous enough on my own back then._

A growl rumbled low in her chest. Whoever it was probably came for the kids or were in cahoots with them. She would have better chances of holding them hostage than seeking out the hidden fourth person. Decision made, she moved quickly towards the apartment block. There was a couple of lift lobbies, but the elevators dimmed and rusty from disuse. This part of the Slums had no running electricity for years. There was no way they were in use, so the stairs it was. Likewise there were two sets on opposite ends of the rectangular building. She studied the one closest to her and bounded up it.

If this was an ambush she wanted bodies between her and the bullets, dressed in just a black sports bra and shorts wasn't great for handling one. Teeth clenched, she took the stairs two at a time. As soon as she hit the second level, she couched. Pressing her back against the grimy wall, ignoring the way dust and dirt clung to her wet skin, she slid along it.

It didn't mattered they were kids. An enemy was an enemy no matter how old they were. A bullet killed as easily no matter who pulled the trigger. It was ugly, but Nike held no illusions of the reality of her life on the streets. It was never as pretty and clean as the movies she enjoyed. Finding a man and falling in love wasn't something she had seen happened in her reality. Take or be taken, eat or be eaten. Nike knew which she preferred. Life was a battlefield and it had taught her to be decisive. Inaction was worse than taking the wrong action.

She edged out. The corridor was empty. Litter lined the place. It wasn't a large block, just six apartments on each level. Two were behind her. Both had boarded up doors and windows. There was no getting in or out of those. Four more possibilities. She had to act quickly. There was no telling where the fourth person was. She didn't want to feel the barrel of a gun against her head.

A furtive peek revealed nothing. She stepped out careful into the corridor, ignoring the pricks from broken glass and debris against her soles. Pistol held low, safety off. She only had a single heat sink, she wasn't expecting trouble, but here she was creeping along instead of retreating.

First door was boarded up, so was the second. That left two on the other end, nearest to the other staircase. She rushed the nearest one. Leaving partial bloody footprints as she went, she twisted to fit her body in the small opening of the thin slat that functioned as a door. Her back got caught along it, cutting a long line across her back. She barely felt it.

Inside wasn't completely dark. Light streamed in from between the cracks of boarded up windows. One sleeping bag was spread across what used to be the living room. The other kids must occupy the rooms then. She took in the space, dead ahead was the kitchen. One glance told her it was empty. The left was a short corridor with three rooms and no doors. Logic dictated she checked the rooms first, but instinct was screaming for her to enter the kitchen.

She hovered at the crossroads. _Inaction is worse._

She always listened to her gut. It had never failed her. Quick steps down the length of the kitchen, dim light cast odd shapes around her. For a split second, the smell of blood and a little girl sliced open flashed across her mind's eye. She flinched, blinking rapidly to shove the image out of her head.

There was another small door right at the end. Her instincts crowed its victory as she stepped closer. Her left hand holding her pistol steady, her right palm reaching out to push the door open. She was swift. The sheet metal that functioned as a door slammed against the tiled wall. Screams filled the air as she stepped inside.

Three pairs of eyes were starring back at her. Nike took in the scene. Tiny and the two girls cowering, the oldest being the Caucasian girl covering the others with her body. She had to be no older than 12. "How many of you are there?" Nike growled, watching the awe in Tiny's eyes turned to fear.

The sight made her guts churned. She hadn't realised she never saw herself as the bad guy until this very moment. Her jaw tightened, she would not be swayed. "Up!"

"No, no, we meant you no harm. Please!" the older girl begged, tears streaming down her face.

 _Too soft. How did she survive? She have to be new to the streets._

Nike cast an evaluating gaze at the trio. They were clearly unrelated. Differing ages and races, they were a Snatcher's wet dream. They were ripe for harvesting. "Up!" she repeated. "Don't make me say this again."

She gestured with her pistol. The younger girl got to her feet, her face pinched and a frown creasing her brow. Nike almost laughed, it was like looking at her younger self. So hot, so brash, but smart enough to know when she's beat. "No, Alex!" Tiny wailed. "We're safe. Here, Ross told us to hide here. We have to stay here!"

 _The fourth person._

The older girl hissed and pressed her hand over Tiny's mouth, while Alex glared at him.

"Where is Ross?" Nike asked.

Before anyone could give her an answer, there was a roar. "Leave them alone!"

Nike stepped out and slammed the door shut behind her, effectively taking the three kids hostage. Ross turned out to be a kid closer to her in age, tall, gangly. A teenager fresh to his new found height and reach. He was quick as he crashed through the main door and rushed towards her, but he wasn't faster than a bullet. Nike aimed at his chest. He jerked to a stop, sobering up immediately. His hands clenched into fists but he held them up.

 _Smart._

"What gang are you a part of? The Screamers? Wraiths? Or is it the Deathriders?" Nike went down the list of the Reds' largest rivals.

"No! No!" Ross shook his head.

Nike tightened her grip on the pistol. "Keep those hands up. Explain, you have 60 seconds."

Ross was flustered and apparently that made him stammer. "We are not affiliated to any gang. I swear! We… I… Just believe me!"

"Is that the best you can do?" she demanded.

Then came banging. "Let us out! Ross is telling the truth!"

By the pitch of the voice, Nike guessed that was Alex. In her distraction, Ross launched himself at her, covering half the distance between them.

 _Fuck._

She didn't want to actually shoot him, not while the situation was completely unclear. The threat of her pistol made useless, she unleashed her biotics. Her amp was already running warm from her training, pushing it now was probably a bad idea, but she wasn't going down without a fight.

One hand out, she Pulled Ross towards her, yanking him off balance. He came hurtling to meet her fist. Pain exploded up her arm. The banging inside turned frantic and without her holding the door shut, the trio burst out. Ross recovered quickly, jumping on her. His arms wrapped around her waist, pushing her off her feet. Nike fell heavily, cracking her head against the floor. Stars spun, but it was anything she wasn't used to. She Pushed again, but his grip held, taking her with him as they slid across the floor. His face was red with exertion, he fought without thought for later. It was all or nothing. Fighters in the ring know they could live to fight again, but street fighting wasn't the same.

It was life or death.

Nike twisted and forced him to take the burnt of the impact as they slammed to a stop against a wall. Her weight against his chest forced air from his lungs. As he laid on his side, coughing to catch his breath, she got to her feet and kicked him. There was a distinctive crunch against the flat of her foot. Ross yowled like she had stepped on his nuts. She hopped backwards on one foot, grimacing. Blood sprayed from his nose as he held his hands to it.

"Please!" he begged, it came out so nasally that she laughed.

A shriek came from behind her. Like a cat, Alex climbed onto the bones of a sofa and jumped. Her arms wrapped around Nike's neck. The added weight made Nike gagged. Finger nails dug groves into her arms and small fists thumped against her face and chest.

Memories of her first raid came flashing into her head. The man that died under her blade flashed behind her squeezed shut eyes. Nike snarled and shook her head to shove the memories back behind locked doors.

She had been trying to incapacitate them all this time. But the girl was tenacious and wouldn't fucking stop. Nike twisted and grabbed Alex by her neck. Her blood was up. There were cries for someone to stop, possibly she was the one who should stop. There was wailing and begging, but Nike heard none of it. Her focus was only Alex.

As she dislodged the girl from around her neck, Ross smashed a fist against her back. Nike staggered. Instincts, primal and feral, bared its fangs. Biotics flaring, a blue aurora burst around her. Her amp seared her flesh, for a moment Nike caught a whiff of burning meat. It was a familiar scent.

Alex was quickly dislodged with a harsh Push. Not bothering to see how the girl landed, she turned to Ross. He was the bigger threat and needed to be put into his place. A knee accelerated by biotics launched itself into his gut. As Ross fell to his knees gasping, he cried, "Run! Run!"

Blood was streaming down his face, his nose bent and obviously broken. Nike growled, turning to them. "You should run, now!"

Without waiting to see what they did, she turned back to Ross. Her pistol was in her hand before she realised she had drawn it. Her amp sent shooting pain up to her brain, but she fought through it, like every time she stepped onto the ring.

Ross stared at the barrel of the pistol then back at her. Tears were in his eyes. "Please, this wasn't an ambush. This is our home!"

"Liar! I cleared this place out years ago, it was fucking empty."

"Ross isn't lying!" Tiny wailed. "You're the Champion, who would lie to you?"

 _Everyone lies. The lines are supposed to be clear. If you're not me or mine, you're an enemy._

"We just found this space for ourselves three weeks ago!" Ross explained. "I am unaffiliated!"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. His explanation was getting more and more believable as the fight went on. Ross had tried to protect the others. That was a key difference. He was acting like a big brother to the other three. Nobody did that on the street. If he had been part of a gang, he would have pulled a gun on her or even a knife. He had not. Judging from his clothes, he hadn't had a shower for weeks, and probably not eating much. It wasn't just Ross, the others looked to be in a similar situation.

The clincher came in form of a growl from the main entrance. She whirled, pistol tracking. It was a mongrel brown and white, with one floppy ear and one pointed one.

"Burger?"

He growled, teeth bared and spittle splattering. She frowned. _Is this another dog?_

He barked. It wasn't vicious, just a warning before giving a tentatively wag of his tall. She must look terrifying, glowing blue, scratched bloody and bruised. This was Burger she was sure, he had never led her wrong before. He was the only living being she trusted implicitly.

Despite what her training and experience taught her, Nike took a deep breath and willed her biotics away. Wincing, she touched the back of her neck, her amp was unbearably hot. It was a tiny volcano erupting under her skin. Fear rushed her like a wave of cold water. She knew what that meant. She was going to glitch.

 _I have to get away. I have to get to some place safe! Burger trust them but I've hurt them they will—_

She staggered towards the door, keeping a tight grip on her pistol just in case. Burger whined but followed. Her vision was tunnelling. All the aches and pains from the day before and the fight was making her move stiffly. Panic was rising in her chest.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_

She tried to run, taking the stairs as quickly as her feet could manage. Her head was feeling hot, her body cold. Blood was rushing away from her head and she was getting dizzy. She stumbled, one foot hooking the other.

 _Oh fuck..._

Pain flashed behind her squeezed shut eyes. It felt like she had crashed into every possible step on the way down. The pounding in her head was a booming bass line against her temple. As the darkening edges beckoned, she felt Burger's wet nose poking at her.

Voices hovered over her as she tried valiantly to stand.

"What's wrong with her?" The voice was decidedly high but harsh. _Alex._

"Is she dead?" Tiny asked, his voice shaky and small.

Nike groaned. She dragged herself forward, muscles straining against her fading consciousness. Burger growled, at who, she didn't know.

 _I'm not safe. Not safe!_

"She's not dead, but I think something is wrong with her," a nasally voice said. _Ross. Oh fuck, get up! I've got to get up! It's not fucking safe!_

Hands on her, tugging and pulling. They rolled her on her back. Her vision swarm in and out as her eyelids fluttered. Burger had one paw on her chest as if claiming her. Then an unmistakable press of cold metal against her head. A chill ran through her as she forced her eyes open. Alex held the gun as she squatted next to Nike, her eyes angry and red.

"What are we going to do with her?"

Nike felt her grasp on her consciousness fading. Try as she wanted to summon the strength to run, to struggle, to not die like this, she couldn't find any. Her fingers curled over Burger's fur as she succumbed to the darkness.


	14. Unexpected Ally

Chapter 14 - Unexpected Ally

Something cold and wet prodded and breathed on her. Nike moaned. It was insistent. A wet tongue was applied liberally over her hand, then her arm, and eventually her face. Finally she gave in and opened her eyes. Sharp shooting pain ran across her body but chiefly over her forehead and arms.

"I'm not dead," she muttered through cracked lips. Surprise didn't even begin to describe what she was feeling.

"You are not," a nasally voice replied.

"Ross." A statement not a question.

He grunted an affirmation and shifted into view.

"Why?" she asked. If the tables were turned, she would have finished him off even if she didn't have anyone she needed to protect. The question still stood.

Ross sighed, it was a sound miserable and exhausted. Nike levered herself into a sitting position, realising she was lying flat on her back in the living room. Muffled sounds of birds chirping outside were filtering in via the thin door. She pressed a hand against her amp. It was cold and inert.

 _Twice in two days, not good._

Burger licked her hand, reminding her he was still there. She scratched his ears absently. Ross looked over. Their eyes met.

"I don't want them to see. Tony—"

"Tiny," she corrected albeit smugly.

He stared at her and said, "Tony, begged for you."

"I owe him a debt then."

"You do."

"Where are they?" she asked, glancing about the house. It was really quiet.

"Out," he exhaled through his mouth. "Begging."

"At the Reds?" She cocked her head.

He nodded.

"It's not safe."

"I know," he glared at her flatly. "But we need the credits."

Silence lapsed between them. Eventually Nike pushed herself to her feet. She glanced about and saw her jacket and shoes she left at the basketball court nearby but not her pistol. She pulled them on and looked at Ross. His nose had ballooned to twice its normal size and breathing through the broken nose was next to impossible.

"I can fix that for you," she said, pointing at his nose.

He looked at her warily.

"It will hurt but you will breathe better."

He frowned, then winced at the motion. His jaw twitched and he sighed breathily. The eye bags and his slumped shoulders were indications of the sleepless night he had. And Nike was sure they didn't have access to food much less medi-gel. Ross was probably completely miserable before already. Nike could sympathise.

"All right, do you have an elevated flat platform?" she asked. "Like a bed or something?"

Ross gestured and she followed. He led her into one of the rooms. It was almost empty except for a thick mattress on the ground. "That will work, go lie down," she instructed.

Ross hesitated but did as she asked. His eyes were wide as she approached. He couldn't help scooting away from as she tried to lay hands on his nose. Nike stopped. She glared at him and he caught himself.

"I don't want you to move your head after I start," she said. "Can you do that?"

Ross nodded tightly.

"Do you need anything?" she asked. "Like a stick to bite?"

He shook his head. "Just get it done, stop delaying."

"Brace yourself," she ordered as she pinched the bridge of his nose lightly with one hand and searched for the loose piece of bone.

Ross hissed and winced, his fingers scratching at the mattress, but he kept his head still as promised. Satisfied with her examination, Nike looked at Ross, catching his eye.

"Do it."

She didn't wait, she tugged. He trembled and shouted, "Fuck!"

From outside she heard a pair of feet racing inside. Burger was barking in a friendly manner. Nike trusted him to watch her back and she kept her hands on Ross' nose.

"What are you doing!" someone behind shouted, judging by the voice it was Alex.

 _The kid really needs to take it down a notch._

Nike's eyes met Ross', she jerked her chin towards Alex and he nodded. An understanding passed between them.

"Ross!" Alex cried as she launched herself on Nike's back.

She grunted, weathering the blows, but Ross was the one hissing in pain. Every blow against Nike's back, her hands twitched. With Ross' delicate broken nose literally in her hands, he wasn't appreciating Alex's protectiveness.

"Stop! Stop!" he yelled, high pitched and pained.

Nike sighed, her back already sore from sleeping on the hard floor. It didn't appreciated the puny sized blows, they hurt.

"Ross, is she holding you hostage? Should I get her gun? I'll shoot her this time," Alex blurted before racing out of the room. "Tony isn't here."

"Oh fuck's sake!" Nike cursed.

She took her hands off Ross and lunged herself forward. Her forward momentum sent both of them crashing against the wall. Nike caught the girl by the scruff of her shirt and hauled her to her feet. One hand against Alex's back, another twisting her arm up her back, she had no choice but to be steered by Nike. She marched the girl back towards the room. Ross was staggering out, concern written all over his face.

"Let her go," he barked.

Nike rolled her eyes and pushed Alex towards Ross. "Keep her under control and away from the Reds. She won't last a second with that temper."

Alex bared her teeth. Nike snorted, unimpressed. The girl grated on her nerves in a way she couldn't explain. Burger was whining and licked her hand. Nike scratched his ear.

"Don't touch him, he belongs to us!" Alex snapped.

Nike flicked her eyes at Ross. He groaned and pressed a finger against his temple. Alex detected the look and tried to grab Burger. The dog danced away, spooked by the movement. Her patience was paper thin and she needed to get back to base. "My pistol," she said, hand out, palm up.

"No! It's ours now!"

Nike's green eyes flashed at Alex. Black hair and tanned skin, under fed, but she was so fucking head strong. "Girl, shut up."

Alex growled as Ross put a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Alex, just cool it. You're not making things better."

Nike had no patience left. She thrust her hand out again. "Gun, now."

"Alex, get it."

The girl was prepared to protest again but Ross said, "She was helping me set my nose. She is not going to hurt us." He kept his eyes trained on Nike, a question hovered between them. She gave him a short jerk of her head in affirmation. Nike just wanted to get her stuff and leave.

Alex returned, gun in hand, sullen expression permanently stuck on her face. She paused half way between Nike and Ross. Nike thrusted her hand in Alex's direction. She shrank backwards. "Give it back," Ross coaxed.

Alex didn't move. Nike exchanged another look with Ross. He nodded his permission. Slowly she slid the pistol out of Alex's unwilling hands. She checked it over. Everything looked fine. "Heat sink."

Alex's mouth grew pinched. Burger was winding his way between the three of them, worried eyes watching. "Come on, girl, don't make me do this."

She raised her head and her eyes flashed. "It's not fair! You come into our home and hurt us, hurt Ross. We took care of you and you are not even giving us anything in return! Some champion you are!"

With that Alex flung the heat sink at Nike's face and ran out. Nike caught the heatsink neatly with one hand and popped it into her pistol. Ross sighed before groaning. A tiny silver of guilt niggling its way into Nike's chest.

 _I know I'm no hero but I'm not villain either._

Nike was having trouble reconciling her own self image with what Alex said. Tiny's pair of scared eyes flashed across her mind and she grimaced. One final nod in Ross' direction and her business was done. "Burger, come!" she barked.

The air was fresh as she stepped out of the dark home the four made a home. How they came together, why they stayed together, it all mattered not. She pushed it out of her mind and took off jogging. Burger loped along keeping pace easily.

* * *

There were no raids, no fights. The next one was still days away. Nike had nothing to do. Frank and Tenner had their heads together more than usual. Probably hatching some scheme or other, but she didn't want to know. With Krycek loitering around the base she had taken to staying out as long as she could.

"So confident?" Krycek called out, his voice always raspy, always dry.

Nike cocked her head at him. She just had her shower and getting ready to head out. There were members on guard duty, but most of everyone else were still asleep.

Krycek was standing bare-chested, his burn scars showing, all sweaty and panting. "You don't train?" he asked.

"That's none of your fucking business."

"Not really, if you lose. I'll be top dog and reigning champion of the ring. You really should consider getting those biotic booster shots. The amount of power I have? It is amazing."

Nike narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not touching that stuff. I've seen what it can do. You're fine as long as you get your hit. If you don't, you're nothing more than a mindless Red Sand fiend. And you're nothing but a slave to it."

Krycek laughed. "Then be the fucking best!"

"Like you?" she levelled a finger in his direction. "How you bested your way out of the Dowager's team?"

He bared his teeth at her. "Shut your fucking trap bitch. You don't know how the Dowager uses her people. She takes your life, your blood and your soul!"

Nike shrugged. She looked at his scars. Some were new, others very old. They had been with him since her first fight with him. Judging by the shape of the scars, fire was the only explanation. And that was obviously how his voice was damaged as well. She levelled a finger at him and asked, "What happened?"

At first he looked confusedly at her, then it dawned on him. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You don't remember, do you? The fire."

Cries, screams and a thud of a body hitting ground rang inside her head. She grunted, blinking hard. "What the fuck are you talking about, Krycek? What fire?"

"You walked away and left others to die and you don't remember," he laughed. "You don't fucking remember. I guess we were nothing to you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

He just laughed louder. Nike ground her teeth together. There was no talking to this guy. She snorted, walking away. "Keep your fucking secrets, I don't care."

"Good luck with your next fight," he laughed. "Maybe that red hair will be lucky the next time."

 _Fuck the hair._

Krycek dangling some morsel of information, knowledge she was supposed to have, just made speaking to him unbearable. He was so smug, constantly taunting. All hopes of having a fellow biotic that wasn't an opponent completely evaporated from her mind. Every conversation was provoking and demeaning. Tiny little words that chipped away at her ability to work with him.

 _It doesn't matter. I've always been independent before. Nothing has changed. The lines have not shifted._

Gangs relied on Red Sand to keep their biotics in line. She was different, the only biotic that didn't dosed on the stuff. Nike maintained her autonomy through her prowess of the ring. At the same time, Frank saw her as no threat. Krycek probably was dosed and then tossed when his usefulness ended. Biotics were nothing without their hit.

 _But I am different. I won't be a fucking Red Sand fiend._

She couldn't afford to slip. She needed to train, to be better and to maintain her grip in the ring. Nike walked out of the base and found Tiny waiting.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Waiting for you," Tiny replied. He looked at her meaningfully, then glanced at the members who were on guard duty.

 _Oh for fuck's sake, this boy…_

Her secret was out to four other strangers, unless she wanted to silence them permanently, she was going to have to keep them sweet. "Come on," she said.

Tiny ran to keep up to her loping strides.

* * *

 _Don't you cry for the lost_

She led him down the streets, passed Red Sand addict sprawled out on the ground, passed the many younger members of various gangs. Music rang from her omni-tool.

 _Smile for the living  
Get what you need and give what you're given_

Her flaming red hair and her brilliant green eyes was enough for most to know who she was. There were perks to being the Champion after all.

 _Life's for the living so live it  
Or you're better off dead_

"Your music is so old," Tiny remarked.

Nike rolled her eyes. "Everyone is a critic. You can decide on the music when you get your own omni-tool."

Tiny was like a tiny satellite that revolved around her. He ranged forward kicking at trash, he hung back when he got too far ahead, but he never ventured far. On and on, Nike walked. She came to her old place and stopped. Tiny looked at her curiously. "Why are we here?" he asked. "I figure you should just give me some more credits and I can take care of things."

She levelled a flat stare at him. She might owe him, but she wasn't about to let him step all over her. He shrank a little, chuckling nervously. His gaze remained light and happy. Nike wanted to keep his eyes that way.

She whistled sharply. For a moment nothing happened. Tiny opened his mouth ready to speak again. Then a responding bark came as claws scrapping against concrete. Burger poked his head out from among the cardboard debris and bounded over. His tail wagging furiously as he stood on his hind legs to lick her face. She knelt down and ruffled his fur, allowing him to give her all the doggy kisses he wanted. Tiny giggled and got his fair share of kisses too. Burger, once satisfied, trotted ahead of them.

Most of the journey was uneventful other than Old Miller spitting in her direction as she walked passed. "He is not nice!" Tiny declared.

On that, she agreed. The cinema stood dark. It was still too early. On and on they walked till they hit Midtown. Tiny's eyes were wide as he took in the sights. The tram ran overhead, the happy family advertisement of Suncorp replaced by a couple smiling down at her, a ring in the girl's hand. Nike looked once and ignored it. _One day._

Tiny peppered her with questions. "Oh what is this? Is it edible? Maybe I can steal it?"

Nike answered most as best as she could, scanning stuff that she didn't recognise herself. She wouldn't be the barrier between anyone trying to learn. Knowledge and the means to gain knowledge was important. However it wasn't the point of their trip to Midtown.

"Stay close," she said.

Tiny's eyes were wide as his attention darted from object to object. He barely heard her. She smiled. She had the same expression the first time she ventured here. Instead, she turned to Burger. "Watch him?"

The dog just jiggled his tail at her. She chuckled and waded into the crowd. She didn't come here often enough for the shops to know her. Most of what she needed, she could get from the Underbelly. But Tiny was too young, too brash to make it a safe trip to somewhere as dangerous as the Underbelly. She didn't want to make him a target for the Snatchers. Midtown's stuff might be more expensive but the people were… well normal. She just had to watch out for assholes rather than murderers.

It took a while to get what she was looking for. Eventually Nike had a duffle bag full of supplies. She had long since lost sight of Tiny, but she was sure of Burger's ability to keep the boy safe-ish. She was relying on a dog's judgement of things, but Burger was more sensible than most humans anyway.

As she turned to whistle for Burger, she heard a commotion somewhere among the throng of people. "Thief!" a woman shouted.

 _Shit._

A high pitched shout forced her to move. Nike shoved and elbowed her way to the epicentre. As she burst through the barrier of humans, she emerged to find Tiny on the ground, Burger growling and a woman all red in the face ready to kick him. There was no thought, nobody touched one of hers. _When did Tiny belong to me?_

There was no need to resort to biotics or her pistol. She threw the duffle bag directly at the women. The weight was enough to plant her flat on her ass. Nike didn't take her eyes off the woman as she asked, "What the fuck happened, Tiny?"

"I was just looking!" he wailed.

The woman snarled as she got to her feet. Kicking the bag as she stood, the bag barely budged. "He was not, he was going to steal." she spat, "I know your type. Fucking slum kids, fouling up Midtown! You don't belong here."

Nike glanced at the gathering crowd to judge their mood. She was a biotic, but she wasn't invincible. One lady was no problem, especially judging by her mannerisms. She was a normal. The entire crowd and maybe the Midtown police force, probably not. Burger stepped up to her flank and growled. The woman flinched but held her ground. Tiny got to his feet, patting his clothes down.

The crowd was still content to watch, mumbling amongst themselves. Nike risked a glance at Tiny.

"Are you hurt?"

He shook his head, his face all scrunched up in anger.

"Get away from me, you filthy dog!"

Nike whirled around in time to see the woman tried to take a foot to Burger. The dog danced out of the way. But she was pissed now. One hand reaching out, she yanked the woman towards her by her blouse. The woman yelped in fright. "You don't get to fucking touch my dog," she growled.

The woman struggled to free herself, but Nike's grip was sure. Without any recourse, she hocked up a loogie and spat. The glob landed right on Nike's cheek. "Ha, filth." she laughed.

Tiny gasped. Nike saw red, hovering on the edge of snapping. Her eyes narrowed as she slowly wiped the sputum from her face. Her green eyes drilled into the haughty woman's. She planted her soiled hand against the woman's blouse and deliberately wiped it clean against the soft silky fabric. The woman shrieked.

Nike tugged at her core. Blue flames licked up her arm. The woman's eyes widened, suddenly realising how precarious her situation was. "See this?" Nike asked.

The woman didn't answer.

"This hand can send you to hell with just a single touch."

The shaking Nike felt through her grip on the woman's blouse was gratifying. Tiny stepped up next to her and laughed. "Fucker, serves you right. You're going to pay! This is the Champion. She is the best!"

 _Not helping._ Nike took a deep breath and focused her attention on the woman. "Apologise to my friend here," she commanded.

"Help! Help! I need help! Please help me! There is a mutant here!" the woman shouted. "She will kill all of us!"

Nike gritted her teeth. This was exactly what she was trying to avoid. The crowd's murmuring turned from curious and nosy to fearful and dangerous.

 _Time to go._

With a heavy shove, she pushed the woman down onto the ground. One hand snagged the handles of the duffle bag, the other wrapped around Tiny's arm, Nike turned to go. The woman screamed, "She is going kill us!"

Burger snarled at the crowd. They were an opaque wall of humans that refused to let them passed. "Get out of the way!" Nike shouted, holding up her arm.

"Get her!" one shouted from among the crowd.

"We have to defend ourselves!" another screamed.

"Shit," she spat before whispering to Tiny, "Do you have something to defend yourself with?"

He cowered behind her, eyeing the crowded worriedly. "No."

Nike growled and pulled her blade from her sneakers. She flicked the blade open and handed it to Tiny, all the while keeping an eye on the people. "Make sure you point it at the right people and stay close this time."

He nodded tightly. Burger snarled and snapped. The crowd moved, it was a barrier that flowed around them. It was impossible to get out of. One wrong move on her part, she would have a mob piling on her.

"Get her! Before she gets us!" the woman screamed, picking up a loose bit of concrete from the ground.

She was the first to cast the first stone. It stuck Nike on the shoulder. With the first, came the second. Nike knew there was no choice. She pulled a Barrier up around Burger and Tiny. The crowd surged forward. She hardened her Barrier, pouring more and more into it. Fists and feet hammered against it like rain against the exterior of a car. Every blow was one against her concentration, sending a tingle up her neck to her head.

 _Don't glitch, don't glitch._

Sweat beaded across her forehead. Her back hunched lower with every step she took. Tingling was quickly replaced by a pounding between her temples. Tiny clutched her right hand as she held out her left as a means to focus her biotics. Burger growled, saliva splattering. He turned and snapped at everyone, there wasn't a single person to focus on. Nike knew she was strong with her biotics but she was only one person. After glitching twice recently, there was only so much she wanted to risk.

A roar louder than anything she heard before rippled through the market. The crowd screamed and many ran. Nike swore the ground shook. A krogan burst through the crowd. "What is going on?" he roared.

She panted, having fallen onto one knee from the effort of maintaining the Barrier. Her hand tightened on Tiny's. "You ok?"

He nodded, but the hand that clutched her blade was white knuckled and shaking. Burger eyed krogan warily, he snarled warningly. Nike blinked and powered down the Barrier to ease her amp. It was getting dangerously hot again.

"What the hell is going on here?" the krogan demanded again.

Nike couldn't help but stare. Decked out in yellow and slate grey armour, complete with what looked like tusks or bone of some creature decorating it, the krogan looked formidable. He was mostly tan with red tipped crests and he had some bone protrusion near his chin. She prayed he was an ally. _I can't handle him and the crowd._

The woman was torn between horror of a biotic _and_ a korgan, and anger at being thwarted. Despite it all, she wasn't stupid, she tried to melt into the background, making her escape. But Nike was not having it.

"Hey lady!" she shouted as she rushed forward, tugging on the woman's blouse again. This time it ripped. "You don't get to fuck off."

The krogan levelled his yellow lizard like eyes at Nike. She straightened despite the difficulty. There was no telling which way he was leaning. Just because his disruption helped didn't mean he was an ally.

 _No weakness._

"Kid, maybe you tell me what happened. That was a freighter full of pyjacks' worth of trouble."

Nike grinned. "Asshole happened."

He snorted. "This is said asshole, I assume?"

"Bingo," she said, jerking the woman to face the krogan.

He eyed the woman, shoving his face right into hers before doing the same to Nike. She stood her ground despite the significant height difference between them. "What do you need from her?" he rumbled.

"An apology to my friend there." Nike pointed at Tiny.

Tiny pressed himself closer to Burger as the krogan turned to him. The krogan whirled around to stare at the remaining brave few. "Anyone got a problem?" he asked, pulling a strange weapon out from his holster. It wasn't a gun and not quite a blade. It looked like a fancy club.

The others who were still watching retreated carefully as if backing away from a rabid dog. Pretty soon, it was only just the krogan, Nike, Tiny and the woman. And she was scared, judging by the tremble in her limbs. "Say you're sorry," the krogan said, almost gently.

The woman's eyes darted between the krogan and Tiny. Nike maintained a tight grip on her. "Sss…" she started but her voice faded.

"You can do better than that, I'm sure." Nike said sweetly. "Try harder."

She pivoted so that the woman faced Tiny and waited. The krogan cleared his throat. The woman flinched. "Sorry, I'm sorry. Please let me go. I'm really sorry," the words poured out of her in a flood.

Nike snorted and let go. The woman scrambled away, heedless of her shop. She sighed, wincing a little as she massaged the back of her neck. "Thanks for your help," she said, as she hefted the duffle bag onto her shoulder.

The krogan laughed. "Kid, you're a hoot."

"Am I?" she replied easily now that the danger had passed.

Nike walked, herding Tiny and Burger in front of her, effectively putting herself between the krogan and the others. The krogan followed. His footsteps clomping loudly behind her. She stopped and the krogan did too. Nike frowned as she turned to face him. "What's up?"

A chill ran down her spine. _I fucking hope I didn't trade one problem for another._

"I was figuring you owe me a favour."

"Really?"

"Kid, I've been around the block. You were about to be plummeted to the afterlife just now."

Nike pursued her lips. That much was true, but owing him a favour felt dangerous. "What do you need?" she asked carefully, the tension making her shoulders climb towards her ears.

"A guide, I'm looking for the Dowager and my employer helpfully provided fuck all."

She let out the breath she was holding. "And you are so sure I can help?"

The krogan laughed. "I didn't live centuries to read something so simple, so wrong."

"I can do that," she snorted as she started walking again.

"After I get rid of this," she said as she gestured at the duffle she was holding. "What's your name?"

"We don't need names to do business," the krogan replied sourly.

"I can't keep calling you krogan, seems rude."

For a while they walked in silence. Eventually he said, "Name's Nakmor Drack."

Nike grinned as she twisted her neck to look at him. "Welcome to the Slums, Drack."

 **Lyrics taken from Life's for the living by Passenger**


	15. Trouble

Chapter 15 - Trouble

Ross and the girls regarded her with suspicion when she turned up with Tiny and the duffle. Drack helpfully waited two blocks away with Burger. The dog seemed to find the krogan interesting, content to spend his time sniffing the alien and trying to beg for scraps with his puppy dog eyes.

"What is this?" Ross asked, his eyes narrowing at the bag.

"Payment." She unzipped the bag and the others ooh and ahh over the contents.

She got them food, water, clothes and hygiene supplies. As the kids swarmed the bag, she pulled a package out and gestured towards Ross. He followed her. Nike ripped the packaging and handed him an omni-tool. His eyes widened. "Why?"

"For the nose."

"That bag is more than enough for the nose."

"Then for my life."

Ross regarded her before snatching the omni-tool out of her hand. "And our silence."

Nike nodded, appreciating that she didn't need to spell things out for him. "That's my old one. It's already keyed with my contact. If you're in trouble, you'll have a way to reach me. I'll do my best. Keep them away from the gangs. They are all too young for this shit."

He rolled his eyes and snorted derisively. "We need credits to eat."

"I can't help you with everything," she hissed. Buying the supplies had almost wiped out the credits she had. Nike was never one for savings.

With the life she led, she didn't see the point. Her last major purchase was the hair mod and look where that got her. Red hair that turned into her defining feature and nobody shut up about it.

 _It's fucking stuck on neon red. I practically glow in the dark._

"This area is under the Reds' control. Living here shouldn't be a problem. Only I use this space, but please keep a low profile. Frank and the others do not take kindly to squatters."

Ross nodded. Nike left him and the others to figure out what to do with the shit she got them.

"Done?" Drack asked as she returned to retrieve him.

"Done," she said, "come on."

Nike enjoyed the looks she got as she led Drack down the streets. Old Miller almost tipped over in his stupid chair as they passed. Even Meg's eyes grew so wide, they looked almost ready to pop from her skull. Nike just laughed and waved.

"You're popular around this parts huh?" Drack asked.

"Maybe."

"So modest," the krogan replied, implying anything but.

Nike didn't bother to reply. They walked in silence. "Is Earth all like this?" he asked.

"Fuck should I know. This is the only place I've lived."

"Let's just say I've been to many places, this part of Earth sucks."

She laughed. "What's it like out there?"

"Outside, it's pretty much the same as everywhere else. Some parts good, other parts sucks. Most of their shitty bits hidden, yours is way more honest. It's all out here in the open. Omega might give you a run for your money," he said. "And kid, you should get out of here while you can. This place is a dead end."

"Where the fuck can I go? I'm just a fighter with nothing to my name."

Drack stopped and looked at her. His eyes strangely soft for a dinosaur walking on two feet. "Kid, you already have more than most to get out this place. This is no place for you, or that zygote you've taken under your wing."

Nike snorted and shook her head. "You're thinking too highly of me." She gestured at the exterior of the Underbelly. "And we're here."

Drack rotated his neck all but sneered at the structure. "This is a pile of Tuchunka junk."

She laughed. "Wait till you see the inside."

* * *

It took some convincing. The guards weren't too keen to open the door when a krogan loomed behind her. But some fast talking and a little name dropping later, the door swung open for them.

Drack glared at the camera as they walked in. The crowd was a little thinner since it was only noon. But there were still enough gawkers around to stare at them. Still one snort from the krogan, even the bravest denizen of the Underbelly flinched. Nike puffed her chest and the grin on her face just wouldn't go away. After all who would expect her of all people to be walking in front of the krogan like he was her bodyguard.

"Having fun?"

"Of course," Nike replied. "Isn't this fun?"

"Not particularly."

Nike snorted as she led Drack through the levels. "You're here for the Dowager?"

A grunt.

"We don't get many your types here."

"Krogans?"

"Aliens in general. And when they do come, it's usually for Red Sand or biotics."

Drack stopped walking, blocking the entire traffic flow. His bulk was wide enough nobody could pass him without some effort. "Hey!" one person yelled. "Move out the way!"

Nike spun and poked her head from under Drack's arm and growled. "Back off, asshole!"

She sighed heavily and dragged the krogan by his arm to the side. "What's up?"

"Kid, you are not as subtle as you think you are," he said. "Stop fishing."

She chuckled as she tugged him along. "You can't blame a girl from trying."

Drack laughed. She stopped right before the stair that led up to the Dowager's office. The pair of guards there did a double take. "What do you want?" one of them asked, his voice quivering a little.

"Here for the Dowager," Drack replied.

Both of them as one tightened their grips on their rifles. Nike tensed, shifting away. _Did I just lead an assassin to the Underbelly. I'll be more than fucked._

"Relax, pyjacks. If this was anything but strictly cordial, you're all be dead already," he growled, folding his arms across his chest. "Just ring Ci Xi. She knows I'm coming."

One of Nike's eyebrow quirked upwards. Not everyone was privy to the Dowager's name. And to throw it about like it was worthless was saying something. As one of the guards radioed up, she turned to Drack and said, "My job is done, debt is paid."

He nodded, acknowledging it.

"See you around, Drack. Been nice meeting you."

"Take care of yourself, kid. Remember what I've said."

* * *

Life settled into an odd routine. Her training session gained an audience. Tiny and Alex, both too young for the streets. They were usually around when she trained. Ross and Emma, the older girl, were out doing what they usually did. Nike didn't want to know what that entailed exactly. Burger split his time with her and these strays that he had seemed to adopt.

"Hey Nike is here!" Tiny shouted as his short legs took him up the stairs towards their home.

"What awesome help you are!" she shouted, lugging another duffle bag full of supplies. "This has got to end. I can't afford to keep feeding you guys."

Emma met her at the landing, home for once. "I'll help."

Between the pair they hauled the bag into the flat. Things looked different. The windows weren't boarded up any longer. Instead they spotted cardboard panels that could be opened and closed. Nike smiled. "Home improvements I see."

She smiled shyly. "Yes, it makes this place feels more like a home."

"Alex! Alex, come!" The boy ran out into the living room with the younger girl in tow. "Look!"

Alex scowled at her. "Why are you here again?" she growled though she couldn't help casting a longing gaze at the supplies as the others unloaded it.

Nike spread her fingers indicating at the bag as a response. "Join them if you can't beat them," she said with a smirk. "If you don't get into it, you're not going to have anything left."

Tiny's fear of her faded quickly, even Ross and Emma were happy to have her as an ally. Alex wasn't so easily won over, but it didn't matter. Nike wasn't here to make friends, she told herself. She was making sure they remained quiet. Violence and extreme violence were what she was good at, but murdering children was an idea that never sat right. If they were a problem, she wouldn't hesitate to deal with them, but she wouldn't they didn't force her hand.

She sank onto the floor, she couldn't help her reflexive evaluation of vulnerabilities of the home or them. Her thoughts were only disrupted when Burger emerged from the rooms to see what the commotion was about. He gave her a couple of licks in greeting. "Nice to see you too, boy."

* * *

"I see you kept your neck just above water," Krycek said as she returned from another fight.

Nike glared at him, her eyes flashing.

"Maybe that red hair is lucky after all."

She had been winning since Krycek's addition to the Reds. He hadn't officially entered the ring yet. Frank had some weird plan again as usual, but judging by the mess Krycek had made at one of the unused block in this base, his biotic strength had surpassed her own. She suppressed a shudder, the Red Sand cocktail that Stitches cooked up was working.

 _Fix up a biotic booster serum, no problem. Fixing my hair mod, no. What the fuck is wrong with Stitches?_

"Again with the hair," she retorted. "Is that all you can talk about? What's with the colour red and you?"

Krycek laughed. "It's way more amusing that you don't remember. You made it out and you don't remember. I barely did, but I can't forget. This is just way too ironic."

She frowned, teeth gnashing but refusing to ask. She didn't trust him to give her a true answer anyway. Instead, she looked at the rubble he was standing on. "What the fuck are you doing anyway?" she asked. "Are you just making sand with your fists?"

A couple of the younger members who were loitering around sniggered. Krycek flared blue and slammed his fist into the wall. Cracks spiderwebbed out from the point of impact. He withdrew his hand, glaring at the others. They gulped and quickly made themselves scarce.

"You and I should fight some time," he said, a challenge in his eyes. "Maybe it would settle things between us once and for all."

Nike snorted. "I am the Champion, you are not. Why should I bother with you?"

"Scared?"

"Try harder, bro. You're barely on the radar."

She kept her eyes on him as she turned away, heading back to her room. His eyes drilled holes into her as she passed.

* * *

Something was rattling. Nike groaned, burying her face into her lumpy pillow, willing the noise away. The buzzing wouldn't stop and whatever it was, it had vibrated off the surface and fell to the ground. It went on jiggling across the concrete floor with every buzz.

She sat up, rubbing an eye with one hand, glancing about sourly for the offending item. Her biotics leapt and sparked, she was sorely tempted to blast the damn thing to smithereens. She glared out of the window. It was still fucking pitch black.

Nike peered over the foot of her bed, nothing. Glancing at the stool that functioned as a bedside table, nothing. She growled. _The fucking thing must be somewhere. I can still hear it!_ Finally, she leaned over to look under her bed. Her omni-tool was glowing orange and buzzing against wall. She rolled her eyes and sighed. Reaching with one hand, her fingers weren't any way close. With a tightly control burst of biotics, she Pulled the omni-tool to her.

As she sat up, muttering curses under her breath, she tapped against the screen to see an unfamiliar number on it. "Who the fuck is this? If this is Scars drunk calling again, I'll drown him!"

Instead, it was Emma on the other end. Her voice tight and hushed. "Nike."

All sleepiness was gone in a flash. She straightened. "What happened?"

"Guardians, they are here. Ross went to lead them away. But…"

Nike's jaw tightened. She could guess things weren't going so good. "I'll be there. Keep Firecracker and Tiny with you."

"Ok," she replied. The plea in her voice came out as a whine. "Hurry."

Nike throw on a jacket to fend against the cold of the pre-dawn chill. She forced herself to walk out the gates. Slowing down only to nod at Cutter, he had night watch. "Where are you going?" he asked, his lit end of his cigarette was the only thing that gave away his position.

"Out," she shot back over her shoulder.

As soon as she was out of sight of the base, she started jogging and eventually was running.

 _The court isn't far. I can make it. It won't be long._

Her arms pumped, her blood raced as her legs pushed off against the cracked pavement. These were streets she had walked in the day, crept along in the dead of night on raids and now running down towards certain trouble.

Guardians, she racked her brain for anything and everything she knew. They were the Dowager's own crew. They barely ventured out of the Underbelly. They were her security, her muscle and the enactor of her will. They controlled the Underbelly where all credits flowed in and out.

 _Why are they out here? And at her training ground? It's nowhere near the Underbelly._

Nike was close. Passing under the solo working street lamp in the area, she could hear loud voices. She stopped, panting. It wouldn't do to burst into the scene. It's to neither of their advantage to let anyone know how she's connected to the Strays. She swallowed, forcing her lungs to stop heaving as she stepped towards the commotion.

As her night vision returned, she saw Ross surrounded by a trio. All of them wearing matching jackets with the Guardians' emblem stitched crudely on. Nike narrowed her eyes and approached.

"Hey!" she shouted.

Instantly, she got their attention. She pressed her advantage while they wondered who the fuck she was. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, striding over. "This belongs to the Reds."

The tallest of the trio stepped up while the other two blinked owlishly at her. Her eyes were trained on their hands. Two of them slid their hands behind their backs while one balled his fists looking anxiously at the others.

 _Two guns. One unarmed. Hopefully this doesn't have to come to blows._

"You!" she stabbed a finger at the tallest. "What's your name? Where are you from? You're not one of ours."

"I…"

"Cat got your tongue, or did you sell yours to the Snatchers?" she interjected when the answer came too slow. "What about you? Are you able to provide me an answer?"

"Hey!" one of the others protested.

"What the fuck guys? I was just asking for names and affiliations. Is that so fucking hard? Since this is next to impossible for you, I'll name you guys." Nike levelled a finger at the tallest and said, "You're Hickory."

"You," her finger shifted to the other one who had his hand behind his back. "You're Dickory."

Her eyes met a pair of bewildered ones on the last of the trio. "You're Dock."

She laughed at her own shitty little joke.

"Fuck you," said Dock.

"Dock, oh Dock, I'm doing you a fucking courtesy by asking. I could easily just blasted your head in with my fucking mind."

The three of them shuffled away from her as she advanced on them.

"Can't you see the emblem on our jackets?" Hickory demanded. "We're with the Guardians!"

"Really?" Nike said skeptically, folding her arms across her chest, sneaking a glance at Ross.

He seemed to have caught on to what she was trying to do. Slowly but surely, all attention were focused onto her, allowing Ross to fade into the shadows. Nike forced herself not to look but kept a grin plastered on her face. "If you're the Guardians, I'm the fucking Dowager."

The trio spluttered. Hickory's patience was wore thin by Nike's antics. He drew his pistol. "Let's see how you like this!"

His grin was ugly and crooked.

She sighed, all smiles and games wiped from her face. Her eyes took on a luminous quality in the dim light. Dock took a step backwards as she levelled a glare at them. "That all you got?"

"I'm going shoot that fucking arrogance from your face!"

Nike had no idea if her Barrier could withstand a bullet, but she wasn't about to start testing now. She didn't spare Ross a glance. He could have already made his getaway, he might be caught off guard. It was out of her hands.

She hunched, legs bent them. Biotics flaring to life on command. Hickory taken aback, squeezed the trigger reflexively. But she no longer occupied the space. She was the wolf among sheep. Darting and weaving, she danced among them. She bypassed Hickory, Pushing him as she went past, going for Dickory. The blast caught him by surprise as he got tossed like a rag doll against the wall. He yelped once, high pitched and loud before crumpling into a heap.

Nike focused on Dickory's gun. It was on a sideways trajectory trying to track her. But she was the blue shadow, the glowing ninja. Her amp seared hot for a split second, reminding her not to overdo it.

She bit back a hiss. _All right, no biotics._

Fists and knees made contact with flesh and bone alike. Dickory grunted, but he weathered the blows. The barrel of the gun was still tracking her, his finger curling against the trigger. She lunged, hoping to knock him off balance. The gun went off. She flinched as the noise turned her world into a sharp whine. For a moment, Nike stared at herself, half certain she had been shot. She didn't have have the leisure to check.

She rushed forward, her fist powered by biotics slammed into his throat. As Dickory gasped for air like a fish, she twisted the pistol out of his grip. Without giving him a chance to surrender, Nike smashed the butt against his temple. Once, twice and thrice. He fell like someone had cut his legs off at the knees.

The ringing persisted, loud and overwhelming. She pressed a hand against her right ear, only to find blood on her hand. _Shit._

There was a third person, Dock. _Where the fuck is he?_ Nike whirled to catch him taking off down the street. _Fuck, no!_ She took quick aim and pulled the trigger. It clicked empty. Panic rose in her chest as she started running. Hot amp or no, she had to end this. As she steeled herself to use her new experimental technique to Charge ahead but another figure rushed out and tackled Dock. Both fell heavily. It gave her a chance to catch up.

As she drew near, she realised it was Ross. It was surreal to watch him struggle against Dock and to hear nothing except a persistent ringing. Something wet was dripping off her ear lope onto her shoulder. Wincing, she wiped at it to get a smear of blood on her hand. Fear settled in her guts and it made her feel sick. But she had no time for that.

Ross was struggling, as much as she had been bringing the Strays food and supplies, it wasn't enough to feed all of them, all the time. He probably wasn't eating as much as he should. It wasn't a rationale she understood. He should be making sure he had the most food. He was the only one old enough to take care of the others, steal shit, earn credits to feed them. Those who couldn't contribute, shouldn't be eating more than they need to survive. As much as she liked Tiny, that was what she'd do if she were Ross. But she wasn't. And now he was fucking having a hard time.

Nike grunted and Pushed. Dock along with Ross started to slide along the ground towards the nearest wall. Ross, recognising what was happening, quickly released his grip. With Ross out of the way, she unleashed her biotics and sent Dock slamming into the wall. His mouth opened in what must be a scream before crumbling over.

She glanced about, making sure all three were down and they stayed that way. Her plan was only to intimidate and hopefully scare them off. Biotics was usually an effective way to do that. She hadn't account for things to go this wrong.

 _Now what the fuck do I do?_

Ross picked himself off the ground, his arms were all scrapped up and his forehead was already developing a decent sized contusion. His mouth flapped. Nike heard muffled sounds, but the ringing drowned everything out. She frowned and shook her head, pointing at her bleeding ear. His eyes widened, gesturing for her towards the flat. She shook her head.

"We can't leave them," she stated.

Without waiting, Nike strode towards Hickory and picked up the pistol he dropped. She popped the magazine out and checked. It was empty, two guns both with a single bullet. They weren't the real Guardians. The shoddy emblem on their jackets had made her suspicious, the lack of proper weapons and training just confirmed it for her. They were imposters. And this was just a shakedown. This might be a case of wrong place, wrong time. Regardless, it was done, no matter the reason. There was only one way to make sure Ross, the Strays and ultimately her secret stayed safe. They have to be dealt with, permanently.

She took a deep breath and handed Ross the guns. It would be good if he had them, to sell, to use or for protection. Ross accepted them. Next, she dragged Dock over to the others. He watched warily. With all three together, she pulled her own gun out. Safety flicked off, bullet chambered, she took aim.

A hand touched her shoulder. She spun, pistol tracking before she hissed, turning the barrel skywards. "Fuck, Ross. Come on. This is not the time to be startling me."

He pressed a finger to his lips. _Oh. I must have been shouting._

Nike cleared her throat and hoped her voice was modulated better this time. "They've got to go."

He dragged his index finger across his throat and shook his head furiously.

"Do you have a better idea?" she growled, tired, in pain and in no mood to drag this out. They were losing night as they stood around.

Ross' mouth grew pinched as he considered the problem.

"How the fuck did you survive the streets? You're way too optimistic, way too soft to come from the streets. Are you a run away from Midtown? Or one of the assholes from Central, here for a tour of the Slums?" Nike asked exasperatedly. "Taking on strays, feeding them, taking care of them. You're out of your fucking mind."

She glanced upwards at the direction of the flat. They were a distance away, she couldn't see any of the others. But she had no doubt her voice carried. But facts were facts. The frown across his brow deepened, his lips pressed thin.

"These guys need to go if you're so keen to keep hanging out here. I can promise you will not find another place like this. Unless you're going to join up. And you can be sure, Alex and Emma unless they turn out to be biotics, they will be joining the Night Walkers in a couple of years. Tiny? Nobody would bother with him, well other than the Snatchers. He can run with the other street kids, praying he survive long enough to join up. And then, maybe he will live long enough to make it out of here, if he ever will. Nobody is living a long and healthy life here. You take what you can, destroy what you can't. Defend your turf and burn everything else."

She panted, her anger boiling over. "Fuck I am doing you a favour."

Nike walked over, pistol stowed away this time, she didn't want to shoot Ross if he decided to touch her again. It would be easier with her blade, messy but quiet. She flicked the blade open and glanced at Ross. Their eyes met. But he looked away, his hands balled into fists. _Anger? Shame? Does it even matter?_

Nike prided herself on doing what must be done and doing it well. Silting throats was something she had experience in. Fear and panic slammed into her chest, it tasted bitter on her tongue as her throat tightened. Memories of another time, another kill washed over her. Her footsteps faltered as she squeezed her eyes shut.

She growled in frustration, shaking her head to clear the images. The sudden movement brought the pain in her ear to life, grounding her in the present. Swallowing, she advanced again. She looked at them, eyes closed, looking for all the world like they were sleeping. She straddled Hickory, her knees pinning his arms just in case. One hand pressed against his chin, stretching the smooth skin over his throat taut, she placed her blade against the throbbing pulse of his carotid artery. With one smooth motion she switched the grip on her blade. The point now faced downwards.

Without looking, she knew Ross was hovering over her shoulder. He should watch, these deaths were on him. He should have handled this mess better.

Taking a deep breath she plunged the blade down. Hickory's eyes flew open as he started to flail. He struggled and bucked, but Nike dragged the blade across his throat. Aided by biotics and a well sharpened blade, skin, flesh and fat parted easily. Within two minutes, all struggles ceased. The scent of iron was pungent in the air. She stood, her hands completely sleek with blood. Her eyes met Ross'. Hers hard as agates, his were equal measure of horror and fear. His hand pressed against his mouth, trying not to empty his guts.

 _Watch, fucker. I am an Enforcer of the Reds. This is who I am._


	16. An Offer

Chapter 16 - An Offer

Nike stripped out of her street clothes and stood in front of the mirror, naked. Scars lined her body, silver lines of wounds old, red tracks of injuries new. Arms braced against the counter, she stared into her own chartreuse eyes. They gleamed an almost luminous emerald under the lights. She didn't recognise the face in the mirror.

After last night, Nike felt different. The person who ran to get Ross out of trouble wasn't the same who walked home. Lifting her arms up, she studied them. They were clean. Not a trace of blood was left on them. She slitted their throats. Her fingers gripped her blade tight, it left an imprint on her palm that took a long time to go away. She stared at it till dawn.

 _I have killed before. Why is this any different? Why are they special? They are fucking nobodies._

Nike growled. It was a sound of frustration and pain, the sort that couldn't be put into words, the sort that lingered in her mind and burrowed under her skin. Teeth gritted, knuckles whitened as she fought the urge to lash out at her reflection. She wasn't sad, she just wasn't the same. Something changed. _She_ changed. But what?

"Fuck," she exhaled.

The bass boomed outside. Voices chanted along with the song. It was fight night. After little to no sleep, she was half way torn between wanting to punch something and just falling face first into the sofa in the prep room. But there was no sick day when one ran with the Reds

Fight or get fucked. _And not the enjoyable kind._ Not that she'll allow anyone to touch her.

"What's taking you so long?" Scars shouted as he thumped his fist on the door.

Nike straightened. The annoying whine was still there but only in her left ear now. She was glad she hadn't gone deaf. Her shoulders were tight, neck stiff as she took one more good look at herself. She didn't like what she saw.

Sighing, she turned resolutely away from her reflection and started dressing. A pair of black sports bra went over the modest mounds of flesh on her chest. A pair of black compression shorts went on next. Hair was sleek back into a neater ponytail. Hands slapped water onto her face.

"Game face on, it's show time," she muttered.

Nike pulled the door open and found Scars' arm raise up ready to thump on the door again. "What the fuck are you doing in there?" he demanded. "Getting yourself off? Finger fucking one more time?"

She levelled a look at him. Despite him being taller, older and ostensibly her handler, he stiffened and took a step back. "What the fuck has gotten into you?" he muttered. "Anyway just get to the ring. You're up next."

Nike slipped her arms into her jacket and pulled the zipper up, shooting Scars a look. He scowled as he fell into step behind her.

"What's wrong with showing off what you've got?" he muttered. "Not like yours is anything special."

She stopped abruptly, spinning to face him. Scars bumped into her. Normally, she would have tolerated these snide remarks. She might even just let him oogle if that's all he did. But today she was on a hair trigger. She could feel the buzz of her biotics running just under her skin, her temper barely reined in. It didn't need the prodding from Scars.

"What the fuck?" he protested. "Got out the wrong side of bed?"

If eyes were weapons of mass destruction, Scars would have melted under her glare. But it was enough to make him shut up and for that Nike was grateful.

As she neared the corridor that led out to the ring, one of the guys stopped her with a palm. She waited. This was familiar. It was ritual. Nike clung onto that, forcing the incessant noise in her head silent.

The announcer's voice boomed. "And for the final fight of the night! The Champion fights her latest contender!"

The crowd started chanting. "Champion! Champion!"

Feet stamped the ground, hands clapped. The noise was a physical force that slammed into her face. The energy out there crackled. Nike grinned. The dark cloud that followed her since last night was dispelled instantly.

The people demanded for her. They didn't care what she had done. They cared what she wore or looked like. They didn't care about anything beyond the blood she offered to them, hers or her opponent's. And Nike always delivered.

Standing on the threshold, she shivered, lapping up the energy. Out there she was loved, revered, hated, despised, feared and cursed. She was wanted and honoured. Glancing back at Scars, he flashed her a smile, one that was already looking forward to the credits she was going to earn for them.

The announcer introduced her opponent, but she wasn't listening. Nike unzipped her jacket and let it fall to the ground.

"And here is the one you have been waiting for."

She strode across the threshold. "Nike of the Reds! The Champion!"

The crowd roared. It pierced through the ringing in her ears. The ground shook from its intensity. Music started booming.

 _We are the lions, we are the chosen  
We gonna shine out the dark_

Nike lifted her arms, accepting everything the crowd gave. They were screamed her name. She didn't care if it was in joy or in fear. She mattered here.

 _We are the movement  
This generation_

Above the people, from the elevated box above, she could see Ci Xi watching. Their eyes met. The Dowager offered her a single nod. She grinned.

 _You better know who we are  
Who we are_

But Ci Xi wasn't alone today. There was a man. Nike knew what it meant when the Dowager had guests. Someone was on the selling block. Nike dismissed the man from her mind. She had a fight to win.

"Ready yourself for the fight of your life!" the announcer screamed into his mic, blowing out the audio system

The crowd screamed.

* * *

Nike sat in the prep room. She could feel trails of sweat trickling down her face, between her breasts and her back. They pooled and collected at her chin, eventually joining their mates on the floor and bench. Her knuckles hurt, her head throbbed and her amp frying her skin. Normal, that was all normal after a fight.

What wasn't was the disgust she felt. It had returned.

A fight always cleared her head. The flash of pain when fist met flesh, the sheer adrenaline rush of biotics singing in her veins, living on the cutting edge of victory or defeat.

"She won, of course she won," Scars said. "The purse is fucking huge this time." He paced, his voice loud and excited as he gave the news to Tenner.

Nike exhaled, trying to force calm into her thoughts. It wasn't working well. She drained her third packet of energy drink. The packaging crumpled easily under her grip. It joined the others on the floor. Scars' pacing, his voice, the fluorescent lights, the taste of the drink, everything grated.

"Nike?" Scars said, "No, no injuries. She's fine. She's always fine. Never had to drag her back to base in ages."

She flexed her hand, the skin across her knuckles split and oozed blood. The cut across her forehead had swell. And her ears were ringing louder than before. But yeah, she was fine. Even the amp was cooling down.

As she was towelling herself off, pulling her jacket back on, the door swung open unceremoniously. Nike ignored it. Scars could handle it. That was what he was here for. It was probably the Dowager's people with the purse and whatever hell Frank had wrangled into the fight deal. Maybe territory, though it was unlikely since everyone else was wary of betting anything more than credits with them, maybe weapons, which was more likely.

"Where is the purse?" Scars demanded.

"The Dowager wants to see the Champion."

Nike glanced over. A pair of guards wearing a protective vest with the Dowager's emblem stood with their arms folded. Pistols secured on their hips and rifles slung across their back. Her eyes flickered between the pair, a male and a female. Both of them were unfamiliar.

"Come on, she don't like waiting," the female said, this she addressed Nike.

"What about the purse?" Scars insisted. "I'm her handler. You should be speaking to me."

Nike straightened after shoving her feet into her sneakers, she didn't bother lacing them up. Her fingers itched for a cigarette. Maybe that'll help chase the fucking feeling away. The guards looked at her. "Why does she want to see me?" Nike asked.

The male guard shrugged. Of course who would question the Dowager, especially if she was your boss? That she understood.

"Hey! Answer me!" Scars stepped between the guards and herself.

They sneered as one. Nike couldn't help the smirk that perked up her lips. Scars always leaned on the Reds' reputation to bully anyone he could. He might be one of the old boys, but he never got her respect.

Nike picked up her satchel and fished out a cigarette. "I'll handle this," she said, lighting it. Whatever this was about, she was sure it had to do with the stranger with the Dowager. "I'll pick up the purse directly from Ci Xi."

The guards stiffened as one. Their eyes widened. Nike snorted. It never got old. Name dropping was fantastic. She sauntered past Scars, puffing on her cigarette. "Run along back to base, Scars." She turned to the guards and pushed past them. "Let's go."

* * *

"Ahhh, there she is," the Dowager almost cooed as Nike walked through the doors.

Her gaze rested first on Ci Xi. The five years had been kind. Her lair had newer, plusher carpets. The terminal that was there before was replaced with an upgraded model. Anything could be replaced, had been. That was how the Dowager operated. She kept those she could use, anyone that didn't fit was gone. It worked for the Dowager and her gang.

"This is our reigining Champion, Nike of the Reds," the Dowager introduced.

Nike turned her attention to the man. He was dressed impeccably in a suit, which was unusual for the heat and humidity here. His hair brown and nicely smoothed back from his face, fingers steepled as he leaned forward to look at her from his seat on the Dowager's sofa. His eyes were the most startling blue, his gaze piercing but opaque.

"Hello, Nike," he said, smiling a little. It never reached those blue orbs.

She couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine but she forced herself to grin. "What's this about?"

Ci Xi's eyes gleamed. Nike didn't like it any better. "An offer," the Dowager said, glancing at the man, whom Nike noted had neglected to introduce himself. "A school of sorts."

Nike's lips pressed thin. She waited, eyes flickering between the pair.

"For people like you," the Dowager went on. "Biotics."

Now that caught Nike's attention. She wanted to learn biotics properly. She wanted instructions that didn't come from the extranet. But something told her to be wary. The entire situation was odd. Biotics were regularly traded and sold. That much she knew. Where they went she had no clue. Maybe they all went to school but this felt too good to be true.

The man stood up. His gaze roved over her. It wasn't sexual like how Scars' or Tenner's were. He was looking at her like she was a brand new gun he wanted to purchase.

"I can offer you a way out of here. Credits and then a job, a future beyond the ring, the gangs and the fights," he said. "I can take you beyond Singapore, beyond Earth. Do you want that?"

The "yes" was hovering on the tip of her tongue. It was appealing, it was really tempting. After all what was holding her here? Nothing, except Burger. She enjoyed the fights but it was a dead end existence. Kill or be killed, living and dying were partners in the same bed. Nike couldn't see anything in her future beyond inevitably losing and being forced to take Red Sand.

It was then the door hissed open. Anger surged behind the blue of the man's eyes as he glared at the intruder. The guard faltered before announcing. "Zaid is here."

The Dowager lifted a hand and beckoned. Nike recognised the teen being dragged in. He was her opponent. He was the target of all her restlessness and it showed. His face swollen where her fists connected, his body bruised and battered where it met the hard floor of the ring. Jitters ran through his body. This was a fiend who hadn't got his fix.

At the sight of Zaid, the man reluctantly tore his gaze off her. He guided Zaid gently to a nearby chair and sat him down on it. "Did you take your shot before the fight?" he asked.

Nike stiffened. The fight had been harder than usual but she had chalked it some pre-fight dosing which was completely legal. Everything was permitted after all, other than weapons. But the man was somehow directly involved. She was already reconsidering her stance regarding his offer.

"How much was he given?"

The guard shrugged. "Half? A quarter?"

"Fool," his voice ice cold as he glared at the guard. "You're supposed to give him the full vial. The fight's data is useless to me now."

Nike folded her arms across her chest and tried not to look overly interested. Ci Xi's eyes narrowed. Nothing slip past the Dowager. She lifted her chin and asked, "Nike, I hear you never dose before a fight."

She nodded. It was what she was known for. The Champion who won despite the lack of Red Sand coursing through her veins. Well, that and the red hair now. "I am still the Champion aren't I?" she pointed out.

The man's head pivoted like a hound on the scent. "You don't dose? I'd thought the formula was distributed to all of them."

Ci Xi shrugged. "It was made available to everyone. But every gang runs things differently. Our girl here has a distaste for Red Sand."

She shivered and it wasn't because she was cold. So that was why Frank came back with that formula. It wasn't from Stitches. It was from this man. _Who the fuck is he and why is he doing this?_

"I could make it compulsory," the Dowager mused.

"No." Her voice a little too high, her retort a little too quick.

The smile that split the Dowager's face was predatory. Nike gulped. "The people want the Champion, not a dosed up Red Sand fiend," she pointed out quickly.

"That's true. But the people will like what I tell them to like. And they will be grateful for it."

Before Nike could rack her brain to divert the Dowager from this line of thought, Zaid shouted, "Please, Dowager. I need it. I need it now." He crawled on his hands and knees. "I will do better the next time."

The man watched, his gaze keen. Ci Xi sneered at the sight of her once fearsome fighter. "You will not do better next time, Zaid," she said. "You are already gone from my mind. Take him away."

Zaid surged to his feet. "You!" he screamed, levelled a finger in Nike's direction. "It's all your fault! If I kill you now, I'll get my fix. It's all your fucking fault!"

The guards as one lifted their weapons and trained them on Zaid. Ci Xi waved them off. Everyone looked on with interest, the man had the keenest gaze. Nike gnashed her teeth and lifted her arms. It's clear nobody was going to stop him.

"Zaid, don't be stupid. You lost in the ring," she warned, reaching to her core. "You will lose now."

"Die!" A single scream and Zaid launched himself at her.

He was hurt, his strength waning and stamina all but gone. It was simple matter of sidestepping his wild lunge and smashing her fist into his jaw. Pain exploded up her hand. Red streaked across the cream coloured carpet. Ci Xi winced at the mess. The man never took his eyes off them, ignoring the drops of blood that had splattered across his face. Zaid slumped onto the ground but he wasn't giving up. Teeth gritted, he picked himself up and tried again. Nike wasn't taking any chances, better to put him down fast. Her biotics flared down her leg as she powered her knee into his gut. The force lifted him off the ground for a couple of seconds. When he landed, he barely had the breath to groan. She grimaced when he emptied his stomach, edging away from him.

"Ci Xi, I just want to leave, can I have my purse?" Nike asked.

The Dowager drew herself up to her full height. She was not much taller than Nike but her presence was magnetic. A jerk of her chin and the butt of a rifle smashed into Nike's back. "You will speak to me with respect or not at all. I can easily end your career in the ring with a finger."

Nike gasped as she fell to her knees. Zaid grinned at her despite the string of vomit trailing from his mouth, bloody teeth and all. "Please, Dowager," she hissed while on her knees.

"Get it," the Dowager instructed and a pair of boots moved away. It was then she picked herself off the floor to find Ci Xi's dark eyes boring into her.

"Do not mistake what we have, Nike," the Dowager. "We are not friends. I am the master, ruler and queen." She stabbed a finger in Nike's direction. "You are merely here at my pleasure."

She nodded hurriedly. Fear seizing her throat, freezing her voice.

The man cleared his throat pointedly. Ci Xi's eyes flashed once but the scowl fell away. "Nike, you should really consider joining us. I know Frank doesn't treat you right. I can give you more credits than he can."

"Or you can join me and my school. Go beyond the Slums," the man pointed out. "You have potential, Nike. You're destined for something more than this."

Two pairs of eyes, one dark, the other bright, both stared at her. Nike didn't know what to make of them. Ci Xi, she understood to a certain extent, but the man made her skin crawl. She felt like prey under their predatory gaze. Their eyes expectant, the tension in the room was making her restless. Nike wanted out, now.

"No," she forced out of her mouth eventually. "Thank you. I'm fine where I am."

The man shook his head disappointed but unsurprised. Ci Xi sighed. "Girl, you're the big fish in the pond now but don't expect to stay that way forever."

Nike rolled her shoulders and forced a grin. "I'll make you fight for it."

"I expect nothing less."

Zaid groaned, crawling towards the Dowager. "Please! I need it now!"

"May I?" the man asked.

The Dowager nodded. "He is all yours. You've paid for him after all."

"No!" Zaid shouted, finding strength in his shock. "I am your fighter! I am! Don't get rid of me. I can't return to the streets. I can't. I need the shot!" His panic manifested in begging, pleading and finally outright sobbing.

Nike's jaw tightened. This could be her. All that separated her and Zaid was a single falter, a single mistake, a single fucking misstep. _I will not let that happen. I will not lose._

The guard handed Ci Xi took the credit chit. Nike approached, hand reaching for it. Instead Ci Xi pulled it out of her reach, she said, "Remember what I said girl. Your value lies in you being the Champion, my offer only stands while you still have value."

Nike nodded. She all but snatched the chit out of the Dowager's hand, her ears picked up on the conversation the man was having with Zaid.

"Relax, you will get your fix soon," he said. "I'm going to take good care of you. No more fights, just learning and some training."

Zaid shivered as his withdrawal got worse. "Where are you taking me?"

"It's a school where biotics learn how to better use their powers. You'd learn, you'd train and you'd find a calling."

The fierce opponent in the ring just minutes earlier was clinging onto the man like a child. With the promise of his next fix, Zaid would have done anything. The man reaching into his pocket and withdraw a vial and a syringe. Zaid's eyes widened, holding himself still as if a single false move would meant no fix.

Nike hissed. The vial held a solution redder, more concentrated than the one Frank had threatened her with. As the man slid the filled syringe into the back of Zaid's neck, he said, "Just call me Jack, Jack Harper."

 **Lyrics taken from Lions by Skip Marley**


	17. Brewing Storm

Chapter 17 - Brewing Storm

"Nike's back!" The call rang out as she came within sight of the base.

 _What the fuck?_

Nike never got an announcement every time she returned to base. She was already keyed up from the strange offer by Ci Xi and the man. It joined the events of the previous night crowding around her head. She was tired. All she wanted was a shower, some food and sleep. But with the looks of things, it didn't seemed possible.

Scars was at the gates glaring at her. Of course he was pissed. He was a petty man who didn't know when he was in over his head. "I see you came crawling back," he sneered.

Nike ignored him and walked on. His bristling slid off her skin like water off a fish. Cutter glanced up from his work and waved at her as she passed, cigarette smoke tracing an arc in the air. She nodded. Krycek was at his usual spot. His grin was wider than usual. "You've fucked up now. You're going to burn!"

Tenner spotted her and quickly ducked into the back room. The hair at the back of her neck was standing on its end. _What the fuck did Scars tell them?_ All eyes were on her. It wasn't just the inner circle, it was everyone. Her hand tightened on her satchel as she rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. There was a target painted on her back and she didn't know why. She was about to head to her room when the heavy metal door of the back room swung open. It hit the wall with a solid thunk.

"Nike, office now!"

Her head jerked towards the voice, ready to chew out whoever it was. Her eyes only found Frank's steely grey ones on her. She sighed and changed course.

* * *

The door swung shut behind her. It clanked shut with a note of finality. For once, she would prefer to be trapped in the same room with Tenner. Frank kept his back towards her, hands clasped tight, shoulders taut. Every line radiating displeasure. _What the fuck did I do? I won, didn't I?_

Nike cleared her throat and took the initiative. She tossed the credit chit onto his desk. "Here's the winnings from today." Her hand faltered when she caught sight of the vial. The chit missed the desk and fell to the floor. Her jaw tightened.

Frank turned his head slightly to look the chit before turning to face her. "Nike," her name came out in a tightly controlled growl. "Have I not be treating you well? Taking you in, feeding you, sheltering you. Gave you a place among the Reds."

Nike stiffened her spine and held her ground despite Frank towering over her. She wasn't a child anymore. She was the Champion, a biotic and a fucking killer. The sensation of her blade dragging across three throats ran up her arm. Wet and warm blood coated her hands as it poured from the ragged slit. She clenched and unclenched her hands tightly to rid herself of the sensation. "Yes, you have been wonderful," she forced through her teeth.

Her position within the Reds was odd. Being of the inner circle but not quite in with the boys. She didn't know if it was her gender, her biotics or a combination of both that was the problem. She had never doubted her value to the Reds. But Krycek had throw everything off balance.

"That's not what Scars said," Frank said as he approached. His hand reaching out and clamped down over her shoulder. His fingernails dug into her skin. "He said the Dowager wanted to see you."

"Yes, she did."

"Why?" His fingernails broke skin. Nike winced. "You're defecting aren't you? That bitch is poaching my biotic now? Like how she has been doing to everyone else? Now she has eyes for the Champion? _My_ champion."

Every accusation was punctuated with a jerk of her shoulder. It was awakening all the aches and pain from the fight. She gritted her teeth and near yelled. "Fuck should I know? There was a creepy asshole with some bullshit about some off-world school."

Frank's gaze sharpened but he let go of her. Nike resisted the urge to rub it. "School?"

She nodded, shifting so that she could met his eyes. "Frank, I'm loyal to the Reds. I'm not going anywhere. You can trust me."

He returned the gaze before smiling. "I know." His grey eyes remained dead and cold. "Good job today. We're really close to our plans. Just a little while long, I'll be King of the Slums."

Nike bit back the sigh of relief, it was a cool breeze washing over her. But a weight had taken up residence in her chest. Frank did not trust her, not truly.

"Just a head's up," he said, jerking her attention back to him. "Krycek will be making his debut soon. If you want to keep doing things your way, you know what you need to do, Nike."

She nodded.

"Win, Nike. And never stop."

* * *

"Fucking Scars," Nike cursed as she headed out after a quick shower and change of clothes.

It didn't matter it was near evening when she left. If she hung around, she would probably cave his head in. Scars and his fucking mouth, never knowing when to shut up and he almost got her into trouble.

Nike checked her omni-tool. It was a Sunday. Meg usually had movies running late on Sundays. She didn't want to look at Scars or have to deal with Krycek for that matter. She did her job. She shouldn't need to get jerked around by them.

 _Fuck I am a credit earner, not a fucking parasite._

She sighed. "I'm done with this shit. Fucking done. I've proven myself haven't I?"

Her feet took her straight to the Strays' hideout. "Burger!" she shouted from the ground floor. "Burger!"

It didn't take long to hear the answering bark. "Nike is here!" Tiny shouted.

Claws against concrete and the patter of slippers slapping down stairs approached quickly. The boy slammed into Nike, forcing her to take a couple of steps back. "Hey Tiny," she greeted before being forced onto her butt when Burger jumped on her.

She chuckled, the day's stress finally releasing its claws. "I'm taking Burger."

"Where are you going? I want to come with!"

Nike groaned. "Take him!" a voice shouted. She looked up and found Emma looking down from the second level.

"I'm not your babysitter," Nike declared flatly.

The girl laughed. Emma was reserved and shy at first but the months of regular supply runs had seen even her lightening up around Nike. As much as she was pissed at Ross for the mess last night, she would be sad if anything had happened to any of the Strays. _Yes, even Firecracker._

"Is that Nike?" Alex shouted.

 _And speaking of Firecracker…_

"Yes, she's here!" Tiny helpfully supplied.

"Did she bring more food? We're out of the hot dogs."

"Oh fucking hell! I'm here just get Burger. I'm not obligated to fucking bring food every single time! I don't have enough credits to feed all of you," she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air.

All three laughed.

"Nobody's taking me seriously," she growled but there was no bite. This was the only space she could let her guard down. She could be Nike, the 15 year old street urchin, not the Champion of the ring or an Enforcer of the Reds.

Ross' head popped out from the second level landing. "Take the kids with you. I need to clean up."

At the last two words, his gaze grew pained. _Yeah, clean up. I must have left an utter mess last night._ All she did was to stash the bodies in one of the boarded up apartment and nothing else. Ross was cleaning up after her. _No, this was his mess. He could have handled it better. They pushed the nuclear button when Emma called me._

"All right, kids. Let's go," she sighed.

Tiny was cheering while Alex was asking sullenly if she had to go. After some persuading they were ready to go. Nike rested her hands on their shoulders, squatting down to speak. "Listen carefully. Nobody outside should think you're with me. Burger knows the way, just follow him. I'll be right behind you. Don't speak to me, don't look at me. Just walk."

"But you walked with me when we went to Midtown!" Tiny pointed out.

"That was in the day. It's already evening here. You know it's different when the sun goes down."

Alex shook Tiny's arm a little. "Listen to her. She is right."

Nike blinked surprised that Firecracker took her side. There was almost nothing they ever agreed on. Alex narrowed her eyes at her. "I'm young but I'm not stupid."

Nike snorted. "That you're not."

* * *

Cautiously, Nike shepherded the kids towards the cinema. Her original plan was to enjoy a good romantic comedy with Burger at Meg's. Now, with two kids in tow, she hope she wouldn't be forced to watch some kids movie. Tiny glanced back at her as they neared the cinema. Alex insistently tugged his arm forward, hissing. Nike smiled.

 _Firecracker is a good big sister._

Meg wasn't sitting at the entrance but the interior was still lit. That meant it was business as usual. Once they all stepped across the threshold and Nike was sure there wasn't anyone around, she called out to them. "Hey, over here."

"What is this place? I've never been in here," Tiny whispered in awe.

Even Alex was staring wide-eyed at the posters that lined the walls. "This smells so good!" Tiny exclaimed as he hurried over to the popcorn stand.

There were hardly any left. Nike went behind the counter and helped herself, handing a filled box to Tiny and Alex each. He was already stuffing his face full of the caramel coated popcorns while Alex asked, "Do we have to pay for this?"

"Don't worry about it. My treat."

Alex offered her a smile before joining Tiny with his mouthfuls of popcorns. "They are so good!" he nearly moaned with pleasure.

Nike chuckled, making sure to transfer some credits to Meg. She pressed a finger to her lips and beckoned them to follow. Leading them up to the projector room quietly was hard. Both of them were vibrating with excitement. Once up there, she positioned a pair of chairs and they immediately fought for the perceived better one.

"Guys!" she hissed, "Shut up and eat your popcorn. Otherwise I'm throwing you out."

Burger thumped his tail against the nearest piece of furniture as if reaffirming her instructions. He pushed his way over to them and leaned on them till they sat down, then proceeded poking his nose into the nearest bag of popcorn. Giggling and shoving ensued. Nike groaned inwardly before clearing her throat. They quietened down and eyes were glued to the screen.

She sighed and perched on the stool that was left remaining. Her hand was shovelling as much popcorn as her mouth could hold as well.

A golden hair main character with hair longer than the tower she was trapped in. A dashing young prince that tried to rescue her. An evil old hag that prevented the pair from fulfilling their destiny of being in love. Nike smiled. The cartoon was one she had seen many times before. And they hadn't missed much if the prince had just made his first appearance. Alex and Tiny were already completely absorbed.

Burger bored that none of his begging worked, trotted over to her. "Now you remember me huh?" she chided.

Alex turned and glared at her as she shushed Nike. Nike just snorted and shifted away from the pair. She took care to avoid bumping into the projector before pressing herself into the corner. Burger forced himself into her lap. "You're not exactly fitting here you know," she pointed out.

The dog didn't care. Once both of them were comfortable, the cool air conditioned room was lulling Nike to sleep. Eventually she gave in and closed her eyes. She was safe, contented and happy.

* * *

Nike flinched. Her eyes snapped open.

"Hey, it's just me," a familiar voice reassured her.

She blinked rapidly to clear the sleep from her eyes. It was Meg. She pressed a finger to her lips and nodded at the kids. Nike straightened to find Alex with her head tilted back, eyes closed and snoring lightly. Tiny on the other hand was sitting on the floor, his arms pillowing his head. He was using the seat of the chair to support his head. She chuckled.

"I should bring them home."

Meg shook her head. "It's fine. It's Friday. I open till late anyway."

Nike set out the sleeping bag she kept here. She spread it out and slowly coaxed the pair onto it. The temperature was warm enough that they didn't really need a blanket. Without prompting, Burger snuggled between the pair and each of them curled towards his warmth.

"I didn't peg you for a babysitter," Meg whispered.

"I'm not," Nike insisted, a little too loudly.

Meg frowned, giving the kids a meaningful look again.

"Ok, ok," she whispered placatingly.

Meg and her took over the empty seats Tiny and Alex were occupying before. The previous movie was over and a new one was playing. Nike sighed as she settled in to enjoy.

"Everything is good?" Meg asked.

Nike hummed, not quite paying attention to Meg. The female protagonist had just met the male protagonist. Eyes were dilating and hearts were all set aflutter. Their friends were sniggering at the pair.

She folded her arms across her chest, fingers tightening over her own arms, a goofy grin stretching her lips. "It's all good. I won today's fight."

"Fight day? Did you eat?"

"I did."

"Enough?" Meg pressed as she got up and rummaged around some boxes.

"Yeah." Nike's stomach promptly growled. "Maybe not."

"Catch."

She was too slow and a chocolate bar hit her arm. She picked it up and promptly started unwrapping and eating it. "Thanks."

"Your hands were shaking."

"Oh, I didn't realised."

Meg sighed, munching on a chocolate bar of her own, shoving a second bar at her. "You're a biotic, you should take better care of yourself."

"I am, I'm still the Champion, aren't I?"

The older woman shook head and lit a cigarette. They passed the stick between them as the movie played. A trail of smoke clouded the air.

The restlessness that had been chasing her finally calmed. She knew it was all still there behind a closed door, just a wrong thought away. But she was doing her best to lock it away with all the ugly things she had done aiding the Reds' rise to the top of the pecking order, all the things that bothered her but were beyond her control. They were packed tightly behind the iron clad doors of her mind. The hinges and lock were well oiled as she shifted and shunted more and more of them in. It joined the strange nightmares of a burning building with white dust coating everything.

Meg chuckled and she realised she had stopped paying attention to the movie. Nike scrubbed her face with both her hands after balling up the wrapper into her pocket. She glanced back at the kids, they were still sleeping. Burger on the other hand was trying to worm his way out, his eyes pleading for help. She snorted and extricated the fingers laced around his fur. He licked her hand gratefully before settling down at her feet. Nike kicked her shoes off and gently brushed her toes over his fur, savouring the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Contentment was the lightness of her heart, the dull buzzing of her biotics under her skin. It was the soft huffs from Burger, the sharp taste of tobacco on her tongue and the silence in her head. Nike shut her eyes and savoured it. These came few and far between.

Life with the Reds was filled with violence and action. Adrenaline coursed through her veins like it was blood. Suffering pain and inflicting it was second nature, both on and off the ring.

"They are good for you," Meg blurted.

Nike opened her eyes and frowned at her. The lit end of the cigarette cast a red glow against her dark skin. Grey chasing the black of her hair. She passed the stick to Nike.

"What are you talking about?" Nike asked, taking a solid puff from the stick. The red flared, glinting off her eyes, matching her hair and the raw skin across her knuckles.

"The kids."

She rolled her eyes.

"They steady you. You're always running around half cocked. You're going to either get yourself killed or be the tyrant that surpasses the Dowager."

She snorted. Tiny groaned and snuggling against Alex's back. "They are a liability to me. Only you know about my problems. And I trust you. Them? I don't know them. I trust them as long as I keep them satisfied."

"You could have killed them."

Nike stiffened but nodded, conceding the point. Burger made soft barks in his sleep. She smiled. "Maybe I've grown soft in my old age."

Meg snorted. "Don't talk about old age around me. You don't know what old is. You're still a fucking kid."

She smirked, turning her attention back to the movie. Just as the male lead was about to confess his love in the pouring rain, her omni-tool buzzed. Nike groaned and stabbed her finger at the tool, accepting the audio call.

"Nike." The voice whispered. It was strained and fear laced through it.

She straightened, looking at the ID. It was from the omni-tool she had given Ross. But the voice was decidedly not male.

"Nike, please answer," the voice begged.

"Emma?"

A yelp of pain rang out as Emma's voice was violently ripped from the omni-tool. The unmistakable sound of a body being physically abused came from the background. "Please, don't hit him anymore," Emma begged, her voice now far away.

"We got your girl," a voice growled. "You fucked with us, we'll fuck you up."

Nike stood up. Burger was rousing himself, sensing the fear and anger coursing her body.

"You know where we are," the voice went on. "We'll be waiting."

The moment the connection was terminated, Nike strode towards the door. She got as far as putting her hand on the knob before a hand clamped onto her shoulder, stopping her. She whirled ready to yank her shoulder free. "I've got to go."

Burger was on his feet, pacing anxiously. He whined plaintively at the tension in the room.

"I know," Meg said. "Don't go alone. Get help."

Nike gritted her teeth. She racked her brain. Who among the Reds could she go to?

Scars? She shied away from the thought mentally. He'd only ask for sex later. She could already see his leering eyes.

Tenner? No, he'd be worse than useless. If she had a maths problem she'd go to him but this? No.

Frank? She'd only be asking for trouble. She was desperate but not stupid.

Krycek? She scoffed at her thought. Ideally, she'd loved to have another biotic at her back. Double the firepower but Krycek had all but stated his contempt of her.

That left Cutter. He was the only one she could conceivably ask for help. But it would inevitably lead to questions, questions she wouldn't want to answer. All her secrets would be out in the open - the glitching, her vulnerabilities.

Nike exhaled and shook her head. "There's no one. I have to do this on my own."

She moved towards the door again, this time Meg didn't stop her. She took one glance at the sleeping pair. Tiny and Alex both were blissfully unaware of the turmoil that's ripping through her head. Nike's eyes met Meg's. The older woman's eyes were always gentle but now lined with steel. "Go," she said. "I'll take care of them. Come get them when you're done."

Nike nodded and left, Burger trailing behind her.


	18. Chain Reaction

Chapter 18 - Chain Reaction

 **WARNING: ANIMAL ABUSE**

There was no plan. Nike was just reacting. She got to be there now and get rid of the problem.

 _I don't care about Ross or any of the others. I'm just concerned about my secret._

But it didn't explained the tightening of her chest, the slamming of her heart against her ribs. It didn't explain why she was racing towards certain danger without thought.

 _I can fix this. I can still fix this. Nothing a couple of good punches can't solve._

Her breath hot as her lungs heaved. Her legs burnt as she tore down the streets. Burger was keeping pace easily. It was dark now, late. Night walkers were out in force, bare skin tantalising underneath lace and leather. Giggles and laughter erupted from a group as she passed them. Her red hair was a beacon under the yellow glow of the few working street lights.

"Hey Nike!" one called out. "What's the rush?"

She was friendly with the men and women strutting their stuff down in the Underbelly and out on the streets. Sometimes she chatted with them when she was loitering the streets after dark. Other times she shared a cigarette or two while they waited for customers. They always say her red hair helped to boast their business. Another shook his head before the first could stop her.

Nike's face was frozen in an expression of barely suppressed anger. The snarl she had in the ring, while on raids was stiff over her skin. All that was missing was a blue corona sheathing her body.

By the time the Strays' place were in sight, she was covered in sweat. The chilly night air prickling at her skin. _When did it went from my training ground to their place?_

A growl rumbled low in her throat as she pushed the stray thought aside. This wasn't time to examine her feelings. She had a fire to put out. The lone light along the street flickered. The blocks were dark. Layers of shadows shrouding the familiar nooks and crannies, turning them dangerous, making them all potential ambush point. She stopped, taking cover behind a low concrete wall. Burger leaned against her leg. Her keen eyes scanned her surroundings.

On raids Tenner would provide intel, Frank would formulate a plan. Her job was always to be the spear of their offence. Nike faced her problems head on or not at all. She didn't know any other way.

Taking a deep breath, Nike stepped towards the blocks. Burger followed silently behind. It was exactly where she found the three boys, who pretended they were part of the Dowager's crew harassing Ross. There was no doubt these were their friends seeking them.

Her night vision sharpening as she stepped away from the light. A gust of wind whooshed through the hollowed out structure. The blocks with its empty apartments howled. Trees rustled as the leaves danced while the birds that nested on them screamed their displeasure. Nike shivered.

Her breath was caught in her throat. There in the distance, black against shadow was the outline of a figure lashed to one of the non-functional lamp post.

"Ross."

Beaten, broken and bruised, he sagged against his bonds, head lolled forward. He was completely out. Someone, many someones, had taken their fists and feet to him. _Fuck._

Nike ran over immediately, her hand already reaching for her blade when she heard the tell tale noise of a pistol being cocked. The only warning she had was Burger's growl. She froze.

"None of that." a voice spoke.

Nike kept her hands up and turned around slowly. A shadow peeled off from a corner. It was a girl. Her eyes narrowed. "Who the fuck are you? And why are you doing this?"

The girl flinched as her eyes narrowed, darting to Nike's hair. _Again with the hair._ "I'm surprised. I didn't believe her," she said.

Nike realised the girl was unarmed. _Is she stupid or just over confident? Who is holding the pistol that I've heard?_

A yelp drew Nike's attention to the 2nd level. "Nike, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I had to tell them," Emma cried. Two guys were flanking her, one of them had a gun pressed against her temple. _There it is…_ Even in the gloom, Nike could see the blood trickling down Emma's face, the fear in her eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" Nike snarled as she glared at the girl.

"I'm the boss here. Where are my guys?" she demanded.

Nike's blood ran cold. Her fears were confirmed. Hickory, Dickory and Dock didn't operated on their own. They were part of a gang. And they had come seeking.

"How should I know?" she countered. "This isn't your place to claim. Go and I won't pursue this. You know who I am. You don't want me as your enemy."

Nike itched to reach for her pistol, it was just tucked at the small of her back. Her biotics hummed invitingly, a siren song of temptation, in her ears. She could take the girl down so easily. But there were two holding Emma at gunpoint. She was fast but not faster than a speeding bullet.

"I know you, Champion," the girl said dragging the title out almost in a comical mimicry of what the Night Walkers had perfected.

Nike's jaw tightened, fighting against the need to lash out. "I don't know you," she pointed out. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Get a move on, Camila," one of the guys from the second level shouted.

Camila bared her teeth at him. "You've just fucking spoilt my introduction to the great Champion of the ring. You don't get to do these things twice, Xavier."

"We're trying to find our people, Camila. Not make friends," the other guy growled. "Get this done or I will."

Nike took a deep breath and lowered her hands slowly.

"Camila, what the fuck are you waiting for?"

"We have the fucking Champion helpless against us, the fucking shittiest gang I've ever been a part of. Of course I'm going to savour it, Mateo!"

The three of them were too absorbed in their petty little squabbles to notice what she was doing. Her eyes darted between the three. If there was anything to learn her last encounter with them, it was they were all liars. They only a single bullet each the last time, did they have any ammo this time? Could she take the chance? Emma's life was on the line and Ross needed to see Stitches sooner rather than later.

"Don't be stupid, you can't take her down. Let's just take their stuff and go," Xavier said.

Burger growled menacingly, spittle flying. Inch by inch, she reached behind her. Fingers brushing against fabric till eventually reaching the cool grip of her pistol.

"I'm the fucking lead-"

 _Sorry, Emma._

Nike flared blue and sent a wave of biotics towards Camila mid-sentence. The force sent her crashing into the nearest pile of rubbish and debris. Burger took off towards the second level. With Camila sorted, Nike aimed her pistol at the pair. Mateo, who was holding the gun, screamed, "Don't move or we'll blow her brains out."

Nobody in the Slums postured if they had the ability to make good on a threat. She ignored his warning, took careful aim and fired. Mateo fell with a yelp, but she was sure he fell before the bullet hit. Xavier must have pulled him into cover. Cursing, she ran after Burger. Snarls and cries rang out. "Good boy," Nike growled under her breath.

She took the stairs two at a time but still it felt too slow. By the time she got to them, Emma was nowhere in sight. Burger had his teeth in Mateo's arm, the gun forgotten on the ground while Xavier was taking a foot to Burger's ribs. Nike snarled. Nobody fucking got to hit her dog.

"Burger!" she shouted.

Immediately, he let go and ran to her side. Once he was clear, Nike let loose. Wave after wave of biotic energy sizzled across the air, throwing the pair against the walls till they crumpled to the ground groaning.

"No!"

Nike whirled in time as biotics slammed into her chest. She expected to feel pain as she got thrown back. Instead, gravity upended itself as she started floating. Up was down, and down was up. She twisted and flailed. Frustration made her movements jerky, but the air provided no purchase.

Camila was a biotic she realised with a sinking feeling. She had been overconfident, she never considered she wasn't the only biotic running around. She thought she knew them all.

Burger lunged at Camila, white fangs closing down on flesh. With a flash of her arm, she sent him crashing into the nearest wall.

"No!"

The crunch of bone against concrete was unmistakable. If it was possible for hearts to break, Nike's did.

Blood oozed from the boys crumpled on the ground was something she could ignore easily. They were nothing to her. But not Burger. Red, dark and thick, trickled from his nose, his eyes blinking as he craned his neck looking for her. His whimpers of confusion and whines of pain cut her to the core.

"Stay down boy!" she shouted. "You did good."

Camila laughed. "Some champion."

Nike screamed in impotence. Floating in a bubble above the carnage, she had her pistol in her hand, biotics at her beck and call but there was nothing she could do. The Stasis held her fast.

"You killed them, didn't you? My guys. That boy, Ross I think, refused to say anything. He claimed he didn't know what I was talking about. He was such a bad liar. After me and my boys broke a couple of his ribs, the girl told us they ran away. You see, I'd believed them if I haven't seen the bloodstains on the ground," Camila sneered. "Tit for tat. Rule of the streets. The boy, your dog and the girl for my guys. Then, I'll be back for you."

Nike struggled, pushing against the Stasis field. It was like swimming in honey, everything was slow and heavy. She reached out with her biotics, flinging them impotently at the field but they all fizzled out.

"Kiss your dog goodbye."

"No!"

Nike twisted to find Emma barreling at Camila. Where Emma had been hiding all this time, Nike had no clue but she never felt more relieved. As Emma crashed into Camila, the Stasis field dropped. Nike fell heavily but pushed herself to her feet quickly. She took aim but the tangled mess of limbs and hair made it impossible to pull the trigger. She snarled, "Emma out of the way!"

Emma screamed as Camila clung onto her hair. Nike waded in with fists swinging. She was an experienced biotic fighter, she was a seasoned warrior of the ring, she was an enforcer of the Reds. And Nike was without mercy

The first punch took Camila at the ribs. She gasped, air rushed out of her lungs. The second connected solidly with her head. She rocked backwards, tipped off balanced. The third grazed her jaw as she rolled to avoid it. Emma scrambled out of the way when Camila was finally forced to let go.

"Ross, now," Nike shouted, tossing Emma her blade.

That gave Camila time to recover. She snatched up the fallen pistol and pointed it at Nike, while Nike held hers up. It was a stalemate. _Does her pistol have any ammo? The three assholes barely had any._

Two biotics stood facing each other. Auras of blue flickered and curled. Flames of purple writhed and danced. Nike growled, biotics sparking at the ready. Camila's lips curling, teeth bared, finger pulled ever so slowly against the trigger.

Pistols bucked, muzzles flashed. Nike unleashed her biotics, uncaring and fearless. It was anger and fury made manifest. She stiffened ready for the pain but it didn't come. Instead, a flash of brown fur jumped in front of her and a yelp of pain followed.

"Burger!" She rushed towards her dog, knees skinned against the rough concrete, sparing only a glance at Camila to make sure she was down for the count.

 _No, no. Stop the bleeding. Stop bleeding. Burger, you can't do this. I told you to stay down. You're supposed to listen._

Blood, red and wet, coated her hands as she pressed against the hole that pierced his chest. Tears, hot and desperate, streaked down her face. Snot bubbled and choked with every breath.

"Please, not Burger. Please."

Nike didn't know who she was begging. All the screaming and cries she had done in the past never reached anyone. She was the only one who could help herself. This was the Slums. Not even the gods would deign to come here.

She forced herself to stand, casting an eye on the fallen trio. The boys were unconscious, but Camila was decidedly not. Her eyes widened as Nike approached.

Nike didn't know what Camila saw but whatever was on her face, she was sure it was ugly. She lifted her gun, regretting giving Emma her blade. How she wished she could feel the resistance of skin against its sharp edge. To part Camila's skin like it was paper, to spill her life blood like she did Burger's.

Camila gulped. "Let me go, I'll never come again."

Nike snorted. If it wasn't begging, it was bargaining. Everyone had a price but Burger's life wasn't negotiable. "No deal."

"Let me go, you can take these two," she offered, pushing herself up to a sitting position.

There was a scuff of rubber against concrete, Nike stiffened.

"You can't take us all," a new voice said.

"Took your fucking time, Mia," Camila growled as she tried and failed to stand. "Shit, I think she broke something. Aaliyah, come help me."

 _Two more. Two fucking more people. How many are there in this fucking gang?_

Nike flared, but she met resistance, an opposing biotic field. It was weak but it was enough to deflect her Push. The wave of energy went wide, whipping up dust and debris. The two newcomers rushed her. Her amp flared red hot and her vision white out. Before she recovered, punches and kicks rained down on her. Jaw clenched tight, Nike curled into a ball and endured, gathering the tattered edges of her wavering biotics for a chance to retaliate. Her stamina was flagging, without the couple of chocolate bars back at Meg's, she'd had no chance of getting herself out of trouble.

The moment Nike had a good grip on her biotics. She Pushed. Her will was force made manifest. Mia and Aaliyah were thrown off of her. But she noted it lacked the strength from earlier, she should have eaten something more when she had the chance.

Camila screamed, drawing her attention. A sharp inhale through clenched teeth she saw Camila reaching towards the pistol that laid forgotten on the ground. She wrapped her fingers around the pistol and fired. It roared. Pain was the white hot fire that streaked across Nike's ribs.

Fear rushed through her veins. _Use it. Use it all!_

Nike fired her pistol without care. The trigger pulled again and again. Agony ripped through her mid-section as recoil sent tremors up her arm, down her body. Ache like she had never felt pierced her heart as she looked at Burger's pain glazed eyes.

Her pistol beeped angrily. Its heat sink spent. But Nike kept pulling the trigger, the fire in her gaze wouldn't fade, the unbearable throbbing in her chest threatened to crush her heart. Her tears wouldn't stop, her skin raw, her heart flayed.

Tears blurred her vision when the beeping finally reached her ears. She stiffened and let her arm fall. Out of the three girls, two stood shakily, groaning with fear flash frozen across their faces. Camila alone remained on the ground, eyes stared sightlessly. Her body was riddled with holes. With one supporting the other, they stood, clutching their wounds. They were on their last legs, neither were in any great shape.

"Please, I just want to live. We'll never come back here again." one begged.

Nike didn't know who was who. Truthfully, she didn't care. Her hand wouldn't stop shaking. She couldn't tell it was from overdoing her biotics or it was just fear at what she'd find when she looked at Burger.

"Go, take the boys with you," she muttered. "Go before I change my mind."

She released her grip on her biotics. Without it, she felt like a puppet with her strings cut. Her ribs screamed bloody murder with every small motion she made. Her shirt was bloodstained and wet, stuck to her skin. "Shit," she cursed.

They quickly dragged the boys to their feet and the four limped away. Nike's finger itched to finish them off. But it was her choice to kill Hickory, Dickory and Dock that put them all down this path. Maybe this was the better one to take. She didn't know, all she had left was the weariness in her bones.

A wheezing huff of breath jerked Nike's attention to Burger. She gritted her teeth and bent to wrap the dog in her arms. "We'll going to get you help. Don't worry. Stitches will help you."

She didn't get more than two steps in when she realised Emma was standing stock still barring her way.

Blood drained from Nike's face. She had forgotten all about Ross. She scanned Emma for injuries. Her pale face was whiter than usual, darken patches of skin running all over her arms and neck promised to be magnificent bruises tomorrow. Her lip was split, nose obviously broken, but most of telling of all was the tremor in her hands.

 _She's crashing._

Nike grunted, clenching her own hands, feeling them shaking as well.

 _I'm crashing too._

"Come on," she murmured, hefting Burger to get a better grip, whispering her apologies. "We've got to hurry."

There was no time to be gentle. She took the stairs down as quickly as she could without actually falling. Emma followed woodenly. Gingerly, she put Burger down on the ground. She pressed her lips on his forehead before moving quickly over to Ross.

If it was possible to be more physically broken, Nike had never seen it, not in her years fighting in the ring. Emma had cut him loose. He laid on the ground, eyes closed, body so still she wondered if he was still alive. "Fuck," she hissed.

Ross' lip tugged upwards without opening his eyes. He groaned even from that slight movement. "I might need a doctor."

Nike's jaw tightened. Ignoring his attempts at humour, she looked at his wounds. Red stained bones jutted through his skin. His laboured breathing was no doubt due to his misshapen ribs. His face was covered in bruises and cuts, one of his eyes had swell shut.

"You're bleeding," he pointed out. "And you look like someone just killed your dog."

Nike stiffened. "Burger took a bullet for me."

Ross' face grew even more ashen than it already was. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Medi-gel is not going to help."

He chuckled before wheezing. Nike looked at Ross, then at Burger. Both of them needed help. She couldn't possibly carry them both. Emma had to help her. But the girl was in shock, standing stock still, eyes looking but not seeing.

"Emma," Nike called, she didn't have time to coddle the girl.

Emma lifted her head but not quite reacting. The immediate emergency was over and she had slid into a state of disassociation. But the danger hadn't passed. Nike was frustrated.

"Emma!" she shouted, getting up to shake the girl.

That got her attention, the glaze over her eyes faded. "I need your help," Nike went on, "I can't carry both Ross and Burger. You need to carry Burger, can you do that?"

Emma glanced about as if realising where she was standing for the first time. Tears spilled from her face as her breaths quickened. She bit her lip and nodded. Nike moved quickly to pick Burger up.

"Hold out your arms," she ordered and placed Burger gently in them, studiously ignoring the pool of blood on the ground, dismissing how wet his fur felt. "Do not drop him."

The younger girl flinched at her tone but nodded, fingers tightening over blood matted fur.

Nike turned to Ross and considered the problem. "Can you stand?"

Ross chuckled. "I don't think so. They broke my toes, I think."

"Fuck, I should have killed them."

"Like you did the others?"

Nike flinched. Her hands curled into fists. Her jaw clenched. _My fault. I killed them, their mates came seeking. I fucking did this._ She didn't answer. Instead she rolled Ross onto his side, ignoring his groans, and hefted him onto her back. Her legs trembled from the effort, but she locked her knees and started walked.

"Emma, follow."

* * *

"Ross."

Step by step. Laboured breaths thundering in her ears. Her head pounded as her joints and muscles screamed in protest.

"Ross, wake up. We're almost there."

Nike's head was spinning, her amp remained alarmingly warm despite the relative calm since the fight. Her side was ablaze in fire. Her shirt was completely soaked through. She prayed it was merely sweat and not blood.

"Come on, you can do this."

Ross remained silent beyond weak groans and grunts. Eventually even that too stopped. The weight on her back was the only way she was sure she didn't drop him somewhere along the way.

"I didn't carry you all this way for you to die now."

She stopped, panting. Shifting Ross' weight, she turned back to check on Emma and Burger. The ground marked with a trail of red.

 _Shit. Hers? Ross? Burger?_

Her eyes found Emma's. Burger was slipping from her grip, but she re-adjusted and put one foot in front of another. Nike gave her a tight nod.

"Almost here," she exhaled. She wasn't sure who it was a reminder for.

The sun was peeking out from between the low buildings. Birds tweeting and chirping as they rose to seek their meals. The streets stood empty. The morning dew clung to green leaves as the night's chill hung lingered. The dawn promised hope, renewed vigour and strength, but Nike felt none of it. Her body was lead, her chest ached, everything weighed heavy. How she longed to race Burger to Stitches but there was no way Emma could carry Ross.

 _And this is my fault._

It didn't matter how hard every step was. It didn't matter how heavy Ross was getting with every passing second. It didn't matter her vision was tunnelling, her muscles trembling from exertion, from weariness.

Stitches' was nearly in sight.


	19. End

Chapter 19 - End

 **WARNING: SUICIDE IDEATION, GENERAL HORRIBLE THINGS HAPPENING**

Emma's eyes were what decided it. A pair of pale blue eyes, made watery by tears. Nike's jaw clenched as she gingerly laid Ross on the table. Stitches giving slurred orders left and right as he blearily rubbed sleep from his eyes. His breath stank of alcohol. She didn't like Ross' chances before and with Stitches grumbling under his breath about waking him up for a street rat, it didn't rise any higher. It took Nike's growled threats and an ill advised flare to kick Stitches' butt into gear.

Scent of burning flesh tugged at her mind, flashing images of burning buildings and falling white dust flickered behind her eyelids. She shook her head furiously to stay present. Burger needed her.

Stitches threw them out as he worked on Ross. Emma didn't move till Nike pulled her away. "He is in good hands now," she whispered. The lie tasted like ashes in her mouth.

Pushing Emma into the bathroom, mis-aimed piss and spilled booze crawled up her nostrils and made her gag, but it was the only one here. "Go clean yourself up. If you think you're up for it, I'll set your nose."

Emma nodded woodenly and closed the door behind her. Nike collapsed onto the floor. Burger huffed as she patted him. She had slathered all available medi-gel over his wounds. The bleeding had stopped for the most part, but his tongue was turning purple. His chest rose and fell as he laboured to draw breath. Her lips quivering as she laced her fingers through his fur, but what else could she do?

"I'm sorry, boy," she whispered. "I don't know what else to do. Just hang on, ok? Stitches will fix you up."

She was utterly drained and weary. Her amp was hotter than before. All signs pointed to an imminent glitch, but she didn't really care. Burger shifted his paw and rest it on her leg. The weight was a comfort. "You're a good boy. You protected me. You will always be my good boy."

Burger struggled to rise, but his body failed him. His breaths came out wheezing and wet. Nike gritted her teeth and pulled as much of him onto her lap. Her apologies were an endless litany. The lump in her throat refused to budge. Arms wrapped around Burger, she buried her face into his fur. His tongue, cooler than it usually was, licked her face, his whines and whimpers pierced her chest like a million needles.

Nike was the Champion, the ring was her court and she was queen there. She earned credits, had a pistol, killed for a living. She was feared, revered and hated in the same breath. For all that, she could do nothing for Burger. He was suffering. He was in agony. And she was fucking helpless.

Burger prodded her with his nose. She rested her hand on his forehead, scratching his ears. Her fingers marvelling at the softness of his ears, the way the pointed one pivoted and moved as she whispered. She breathed in his scent, the earthy smell of an animal who enjoyed food and fun in equal measure. Her fingers shied away from the blood matted fur. A cold nose poked at her again. She grunted and sat up, her side protested loudly.

Her green eyes found Burger's brown ones. Though he was a dog, he couldn't speak, he never failed to make his wishes known. It didn't matter if it was a nudge with his nose for pets, rolling on his back for belly rubs, or a snarl to warn her, Nike could tell what he wanted. Burger's eyes shifted and bored into hers. She ground her teeth together.

Burger was asking now.

"No, don't ask me to do this," she begged burying her face into fur, refusing to meet his eyes.

Burger whined, high and hoarse. His chest rose and fell stutteringly. Blood oozed from some spots. The medi-gel weren't enough. His feet shuffled weakly in an attempt to paw at her. Nike straightened. His brown eyes never wavered from hers. The plea was clear in his pain glazed eyes.

Burger was begging now.

She trapped her trembling lips between her teeth, shakily she reached for her pistol. Almost reflexively, she popped the spent heat sink. It clinked, hitting the floor. Her motions slow as dread clawed up her throat, her chest constricted with every breath. Her eyes blurred as the tears came in earnest.

"Please," she pleaded. "Don't make me this do."

Burger huffed, never taking his eyes away. His too welled up with tears. Nike reached out and brushed them away.

"It hurts, I know it hurts. You don't think you can hold on but you can," she said, "You're strong. You can hold on. Please just hold on."

Despite her pleas, Nike knew the right thing to do was to put Burger out of his misery even if it broke her doing it. He had protected her with his life, the least she could do was to make sure he didn't suffer. But he was the one constant in her life since she started living on the streets. Two kindred souls sharing food, warmth and company, sleeping together back to back. Even now, Nike couldn't sleep without a solid wall against her back, if she slept without him.

Burger didn't hesitate jumping in front of her enemies, but now she was letting him down. He had provided her with the one thing she needed so much - a solid warm body to lean against. What had she given him? Nothing but pain and suffering.

 _Fucking selfish! You're just thinking of yourself. How you will hurt, how you can't do it. You, you, you!_

Her hands shook as she pulled a fresh heat sink from her pocket. The same hands that look life effortlessly now faltered in the face of the one that mattered the most. The heat sink slid into place and her pistol clicked. It beeped, indicating it was ready to fire, maim and kill once more.

Burger lifted his head and licked her hand. Nike squeezed her eyes shut. Salt mingling with iron in her mouth. Her teeth had punched a series of holes into her lip. She flinched, waking the bullet wound at her side. If this hurt, Burger must be in utter agony. And she was refusing him mercy.

 _Selfish, selfish, selfish._

Nike gingerly slid Burger back onto the floor. He whimpered, but his tail twitched in a weak attempt of a wag. Her lungs seized, air hollowing out of them. Furiously, she dashed away the tears and knelt before him. It was as much a posture to honour him as it was penance for her sins. She sank to her haunches and pressed her lips on his head. His tongue licked away her tears.

Time ceased to have meaning. Nike was a throbbing mess of hurt, physical and emotional. She ached, her emotions flayed raw and naked, her body spent and exhausted. Guilt was the only thing left in abundance, tarring her soul.

The pistol felt heavy. Her finger brushed against the trigger before flinching away like it burnt her. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."

Burger huffed, his breath warm but weak. Nike lifted her head and straightened. Her jaw tightened, trying to keep her lips from trembling. She pressed the pistol against Burger's chest. He sighed. Relief merely a pull of the trigger away. His tongue lolled out in a smile.

Her finger curled against the trigger. A piece of metal she had pulled again and again, uncaring how each bullet impacted flesh and bone, it now weighed a ton. Her finger refused to pull it any further. Shuddering breath after breath she took, trying to steady her hand.

 _Don't be selfish._

Burger's tail twitched hopefully, his eyes bored into hers.

 _Do it._

The trigger creaked as she applied more pressure.

 _Do it!_

Her breath hitched as she blinked the tears away. She had to watch this with clear vision.

 _DO IT!_

Nike screamed and flung her pistol away. "I can't!"

Burger licked her tears away as she bent over him again. Forgiveness where none was deserved. Absolution where anger was earned. Friendship where hostility was justified.

"I don't deserve you," she whispered.

A scream rocked Stitches' office. The voice was decidedly female. Nike straightened, pain flared anew again. _Emma!_

She had forgotten all about the younger girl. How long had she been in the bathroom? Minutes? Hours? She had completely lost track of time. The lack of sleep, the gunshot wound, cuts and bruises and the fight from the day before had taken a toll. She was hovering on the precipice of a full on glitch.

Nike shook her head, trying to rid herself of the wave of vertigo as she stood. Taking one more look at Burger, she turned to the bathroom. "Emma," she called, rapping her knuckles against the door.

There was no answer, but sobs were coming from inside. "Emma, let me in," she barked, finding the door locked.

Still, there was no response. Nike's patience had frayed. She eyed the door critically. The lock was easy enough to pick, but her hands lacked the dexterity. It was shaking too much. Vaguely she reminded herself to eat before she crashed from low blood sugar. The door was a flimsy excuse of one. Raising a leg, she kicked. It shook but held. Sighing, she retrieved her pistol. It made her glance at Burger again. He lifted his head from the floor hopefully. She turned her back resolutely on him.

"Emma, if you're not going to open it. I'm going to shoot the lock off."

Nike counted 30 seconds before declaring. "Stand back. I'm coming in."

This time, she pulled the trigger with ease and shouldered the door open. The younger girl was sitting on the floor, sobbing. Her fingers cupped over her broken nose, fresh blood pouring from it.

"What did you do?" Nike demanded, holstering the gun before rushing over.

"Ross is dead, isn't he?" Emma sobbed.

"What? No! Stitches is still in there with him."

"Don't lie." Emma let her hands fall, lifting her head to stare at her.

If Nike was brittle, Emma was completely broken. Inside her blue eyes were the shattered remains of a girl too gentle for the streets. The precious shred of innocence she held were got smashed to pieces since Nike came into her life.

 _I'm toxic. I'm fucking poisonous._

"Ross won't make it. I know it," Emma whispered. "I can see it in your eyes. You're just trying to give me hope. Don't lie to me."

Nike looked away and nodded.

"If Ross dies, I can't do it on my own. I don't want to spread my legs to earn credits. I can't do it. I won't."

"You don't have to."

"Really?" The word came out with such vehemence it made Nike stiffened, ready for an attack. "I'm not _that_ naive. Don't coddle me."

Emma's chest heaved as she squeezed her eyes shut. Her grief and fear came out in a high pitched whine. Nike approached but was afraid to touch Emma, a single touch would shatter her. There was only so much a person could take.

Taking a deep breath, Nike reached out, fingers brushing against Emma's white knuckles. The barest contact was like a shock to Emma's body. She flung herself at Nike and clung on, body trembling, soul quivering as she sobbed. They sat huddled together, one limp as a noodle, the other stiff as a board. All Nike could do was be the buoy in the raging sea of violence and grief.

"Promise me," Emma whispered hoarsely. "Promise me everything will be ok."

Nike clamped her mouth shut.

"Promise me."

The lies were tantalisingly on the tip of her tongue. The easy answer was just there, within reach.

"Everything will be fine…" She took a shuddering breath and sighed. "Everything will work out, I promise."

 _Liar._

It settled something in Emma despite the bitter taste on Nike's tongue. Gingerly, Nike guided her to lie on the floor and proceeded to set her nose. She cried, there was more blood but she breathed a lot better after. Nike stripped out of her jacket and Emma snuggled into it and promptly succumbing to her exhaustion.

Sometimes it took pain to set the hurts right. Sometimes it took a lie to sooth the ache. Sometimes it took going the wrong way to know the right thing to do.

Shakily, Nike stood, looking at her side for the first time since she was shot. The blood had dried, her shirt was glued to her side. Wincing, she shoved her hand into her mouth as she pulled her shirt up. Right under her breast, over her ribs, there was a deep furrow that had parted her skin and flesh. Pulling her shirt away had made it bleed again. Looking at the wound intensified the pain. Whimpers escaped her throat unbidden as she groped for more medi-gel. There was no more to be had. Whatever was left in Stitches' clinic was best left to Ross.

Nike shuffled towards Burger. He huffed at her as she lay down on the ground, putting her back against his. The warmth leeched into her skin, reminding her she was alive, he was alive. There was still hope. Her eyelids slid shut, bone deep exhaustion dragging her into a fitful sleep. Burger's cool tongue licked her hand soothingly.

* * *

"Wake up."

The voice was strange and unfamiliar. It was gruff but gentle. Nike rubbed her eyes. Looking around she realised she wasn't at Stitches anymore. Instead, she was lying in her cardboard hovel. The one that she had never needed to sleep in again after joining the Reds. Catching her reflection against a shard of mirror, she realised she didn't have red hair. It was her original black one.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

"Come out."

Nike frowned. She remembered joining the Reds, she remembered the ring, she remembered being the Champion. Everything.

"What the fuck is going on? Was it all a dream?"

"Come out," the voice repeated.

She sighed and crawled out, stomach rumbling and demanding for attention. Once outside, she saw Burger but he was younger, hovering between adulthood and puppyhood. Limbs too long for his body, gangly and awkward. He was sitting on his haunches, tongue lolling out in a laugh.

"Breakfast?" she asked.

Burger barked and jumped on her. She giggled amidst the copious amount of licks he slobbered on her. Laughter so bright, it echoed down the alley. Excited barks and playful nips prompted Nike to ruffle Burger's fur roughly. In that moment, they played without a thought for later, without an urgency for food, safety or shelter.

Nike was happy. The dog she remembered from her dream, the one begging with his eyes, was quickly forgotten. Burger was hale and healthy, happy and here. She panted, trying to catch her breath. Her checks ached from the ear to ear grins. Burger sat down on his haunches again. His eyes bored into hers.

"Thank you."

Nike blinked. His mouth didn't move, but she heard the words clearly. Before she could speak, Burger stood up and ran down the alley towards the open road. She sped after him, feet pounding on the pavement, arms pumping. The urgency, the panic, the fear was a coiled snake around her throat.

"Come back!" she shouted.

Burger stopped at the mouth of the alley. He looked back, tongue hanging out his mouth. His pointed ear twitched. Then, he turned back to the open road and loped off.

"Wake up!"

Nike jolted upright. Her eyes flew open. The motion sent a flash of pain across her ribs. She gasped as she tried to breathe through the pain. Stitches was shaking her.

"What happened to you?" he asked, frowning at her. "Anyway, you've got to come. I'll take a look at your wound after this. You fucking kids give me no end of trouble."

The retort that Reds paid him for his troubles hovered on Nike's tongue but she dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. She staggered after Stitches as he grumbled under his breath. Waking up to realise this was reality was a slap in the face. She was happy for a brief moment with Burger. Stealing a glance behind her, her steps faltered. Burger was lying on the ground where she had left him. Stitches sighed and pulled her along.

"Will you look at Burger later?" she asked.

"Who? Some fourth person you've dragged in with you?"

"Burger, my dog." The glare she levelled at him was enough to stop any further comments from him.

Stitches frowned but nodded curtly in the end. "Just go talk to your guy in there. He is demanding for you."

Nike gripped his arm and tugged, forcing him to stop. Her green eyes searched his. "Do something for Burger, don't just patronise me."

Stitches wrenched his arm from her grip and massaged the spot. "I will. Now go. I'll tend to your fucking dog."

As he turned to go, she could hear him muttering, "What a fucking name for a dog. Burger. Why do people keep naming dogs after food? I'll never understand."

Nike sighed and pushed the door open. She stepped into what she learnt since was Stitches' makeshift operating theatre. There were few places in the Slums to seek medical treatment. And it was only for people who could afford it. The Reds were Stitches' landlord, protector and client all rolled in one. It was via a mixture of alliances and trade agreements between gangs that allowed them to seek treatment here. All arranged by Tenner and it helped fund Frank's ambitions. That meant Stitches would treat any Red that walked through his door. But this also meant all activities get reported back to Tenner and Frank eventually.

 _I'll deal with it when the time comes._

Ross was lying on the table, a sheet drawn up to his waist. His face pale like the sheet covering his body. Tubes and IVs were leading to his body, attached to his arms, snaking under the sheet. His chest was swathed in thick bandages. There were spots where blood was already seeping through.

"That you, Nike?" Ross asked, his voice hoarse and dry. A sensation Nike remembered from her own time on that table.

"Yeah it's me," she said as she approached. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over by a truck multiple times."

"You looked like it too."

Ross chuckled before wincing. "Is Emma ok?"

"As well as can be expected," Nike replied.

He sighed, his breath wet and wheezing. _Like Burger's._ She pushed the thought from her mind. "Yeah, it will be hard in the future. Emma got to step up more, earn some credits and shit. Alex and Tiny might have to try their hand at begging at the Transit hub."

Nike nodded along. Her mind was still foggy from sleep and the nap didn't do anything for her weariness.

"You've got to look out for them. I know this is just too much to ask. After all, you don't owe us anything. But I don't think Emma can do it on her own. I don't know how you're going to get it done, but I have faith in you."

She frowned, Ross' words finally registering. "Why are you telling me this? Stitches fixed you up. You will be back on your feet in no time."

Ross sighed and grimaced. "No, I'm not going to make it."

She straightened. "You're alive, you're speaking to me. You have made it."

He grunted, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. "No, he just stitched me up to keep me from bleeding out. But I am dying, I am _still_ dying He told me my liver is completely trashed. I am merely dying slowly now."

"No." The rejection was vehement and adamant, Nike's shoulders stiff and her brow tight. She didn't try so hard to have him fall now. "No, Stitches can do something."

The door creaked open and Stitches entered. "I can't work miracles, girl."

"But—"

"Unless you have a spare liver lying around."

Her eyes darted between the patient and the doctor. "What about mine?"

"No," Stitches spoke up immediately. "I'm not stupid enough to take your liver to give this street rat. You still are the Champion, do you think Frank is going to let it go if I did that?"

Nike gritted her teeth. The title followed her around like a spectre, never doing her any good. "What about cloned tissue?"

"Do you have the credits?"

"But-"

Ross groaned. "I need more painkillers, please."

"I can't spare more for you," Stitches declared, he eyed Nike. "I assume you don't want this to go into the books."

"If you can manage it," she replied tightly, feeling cornered.

"Then, I assume I'll be adequately compensated for services rendered?"

"Yes."

"Please, it hurts," Ross begged, his body trembling.

Stitches stared at her, unmoving. She snarled, a sound of frustration and anger. She rummaged through her pockets and tossed a credit chip at Stitches. He made sure to check the balance before measuring out a syringe and injecting into Ross' IV port. The moment the painkiller entered his bloodstream, he relaxed and breathed a little easier.

"That's not going to last long. And that credit chit doesn't begin to cover what this is going to cost you," Stitches declared. "You have very few options. You can take him and let him die in agony over the next couple of days. That's the cheapest option. Or you can pay me and I'll administer a fatal dose of Red Sand. He can go out on a high and be very happy while dying. That's the most expensive option."

"Get out, Stitches. Just go before I smash your face in," she spat, her hands clenched into fists. "Fucking leech."

 _But you are one of those leeches._ Her brain helpfully supplied. _You're one of the selfish asshole that took and took and took. What the hell did you do? Kill and trampled everything in sight._ Nike took a deep breath and shoved the voice into the deepest, darkest corner of her head.

"Nike."

She looked up, rearranging her face into one that didn't looked quite so pissed off.

"Don't let me die like a dog."

Nike suppressed a shiver, her heart longed to check on Burger but she had a duty to Ross. "I know. What do you need? I don't have enough cre—"

"No. I know. Just shoot me. The pain is unbearable without the painkillers. I don't want to feel that again."

Her heart stuttered. What she couldn't do for Burger, Ross was asking of her. Her hand groped for her pistol and she rested her hand on the cold metal barrel.

"You don't know what you're asking," she said, her voice shaking.

"I know what I don't want," he said, struggling to sit up, his face went near white from the effort.

His eyes met her. Brown eyes that reminded her of Burger's, eyes pain glazed and begging. "Please, I can't be brave. It hurts so damn much. Please." His voice broke at the last word.

Her jaw clenched so tight, it was giving her a headache and eventually she nodded.

Silence hung in the room, heavy and suffocating.


	20. Broken Promise Kept

Chapter 20 - Broken Promise Kept

 **WARNING: Character Death, Suicide, Mercy Killing, Animal Death, Pet Death**

Nike waited outside, pacing back and forth. Weariness mingling with anxiety and dread. It had keyed her up and made her jittery. Emma saw it when Nike came to get her. No words were needed. The younger girl walked mutedly into the small operating theatre.

"Come on," Stitches said, gesturing at Nike's blood soaked side, "let me take a look at that."

They walked past the bathroom and into an examination room. It was marginally cleaner than the bathroom. Stitches waved Nike over to the bed and she climbed on. The sheets cold against her bare skin with nothing more than her sports bra giving her any semblance of modesty.

Stitches returned, taking a swig at a bottle of alcohol. He handed it to her. She frowned. "It's going to hurt. This might take the edge of it."

Lifting the bottle to her lips, Stitches warned, "Not so muc—"

Nike took a big gulp and swallowed. It tasted as bitter as the past 20 hours had been. Stitches grumbled under his breath as he drained the rest and instructed gruffly, "Lie back."

She squeezed her eyes shut as Stitches cleaned the wound, picking out stray bits of fabric that got stuck. "You're lucky the bullet just grazed you. You'll be in trouble if it actually hit you."

The pain intensified as antiseptic was liberally applied. She groaned and tensed, half turning away from him. "Just relax, it will hurt less and it will be over quickly."

"You try it and see if you can relax," she growled.

"I don't get shot for one thing," he pointed out.

Nike bit her lip and kept her mouth shut because Stitches was sliding the needle through her skin and flesh to close the wound. She weathered each stitch with grunts and hisses. Body shivering on its own accord as she wished for it to be over. Her mind buzzed, her side was numb and tingly, but not from any drugs or analgesic.

"Done," Stitches declared, jarring her from her detached state. "Now go get all those street rats out of here. It's fucking midday and I've not taken a piss yet."

He left the room, leaving her alone. Nike sat up, pressing a hand against the bandages that wind around her ribs. The stitches was a line of fire running across her flank. She couldn't quite straighten without having the pain spewed forth like lava over her skin. Hunched over, she made her way out. Her mind burning with the need to check on Burger.

Burger was where she left him, on the ground, dried blood crusted in his fur. His eyes were closed, probably resting from all the excitement. Stitches promised to look at him. She frowned, realising he wasn't even bandaged up.

Nike stiffened. Eyes wide, breath caught in her throat. She looked, she observed, she stared. Burger was still, completely still.

A rush of cold sweat broke out over her skin, sending chills down her spine. "Burger," her voice came out all cracked and torn.

There wasn't a twitch of his ear, a friendly thump of his tail, let alone a perk of his head up in her direction.

"Burger."

Her pace quickened, but her limbs were heavy like she was fighting through quicksand to reach him.

"Burger!"

Her footsteps echoed down the narrow corridor. She could hear muffled sobs coming from inside the operating theatre.

"BURGER!"

Panic seized her heart and squeezed. Dread chilled her lungs. Her breath refused to come.

She knew. She knew before she reached him. She knew before she touched his fur. She knew.

Burger's gone. His body was cooling, his chest still. There wouldn't be any more happy barks, licks to her face, warm body pressed against her back.

Nike sank to her knees, staring at Burger's half opened eyes, a glassy glaze over them. Her jaw tightened as she fought against the lump in her throat.

"I'm sorry."

A drying trail of vomit and blood pooled at the corner of Burger's mouth. She pulled his stiffening body towards her.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

Nike didn't know how long she knelt there.

 _I've let my best friend down. I didn't give him the only thing he ever asked for. I let him die in pain. I was selfish._

Her fingers refused to part with Burger's body. She checked over and over again, praying for a huff of breath, a thump of his heart. But there was nothing. Her body was stiff when Stitches got her. Her knees almost refused to bear her weight when she finally got to her feet.

Stitches had a strange look on his face. Guilt mixed with pity played across his features before hardening. "Get the rats out of here."

She braced herself against the wall, taking a moment to gather the pieces of herself. There was now a gaping hole in the middle that would never be filled. Remorse weighed heavy. It was the anchor around her neck, the log across her shoulders. When she finally straightened, it was with all the strength she had left.

"Hey, I need you all to clear out now," Stitches said. "I need you to make a choice."

The hint of irritability was the spark that ignited her latent anger. Nike jerked her head to face him. "I'll handle this," she growled. "Get off my back."

Stitches stumbled backwards, fear etched across his face. His eyes darted towards Burger then back at her. "It too."

She bared her teeth, pain was made physical in that moment. "Him. Burger."

"Whatever," he spluttered and beat a hasty retreat. "Furnace is underground."

 _Furnace. Fire to turn bodies to ashes. Flames to send them off._

Nike glared at his retreating back. She grunted, surprised she had lost control and flared unintentionally. It took deliberate will to let her biotics go. Once the anger passed, she sagged like a puppet with its strings cut. She turned to the operating theatre, jaw tight, shoulders stiff. What she couldn't give Burger, she would give Ross. She wasn't going to make the same mistake twice in a single day.

Emma's head jerked up when she entered. Nike rocked backwards at the fury she found in there. All innocence was purged out of Emma in the most violent manner possible. Her eyes were puffy from crying, her broken nose had swell to double its usual size, delicate pale skin bruised and marred.

Nike would take her anger. She earned it. If only she had used her words better, convinced the three fuckers to leave instead of killing them. If only she was smarter and got them out of there straight after.

If only, if only, if only.

The possibilities were endless. In the end they reached this point, coming here to save two lives and failing to do either. Anger and hatred was what she deserved.

"Ross," Nike called out.

He grunted and reached out towards Emma, his hand patting her head gently. "It's time, Emma," he said, his voice no louder than a whisper, tightly controlled. "Look out for the others. I know you can do this."

"But Ross, I can't," Emma's voice cracked, it was a fracture that had split her in half.

Nike couldn't bear to watch this any longer. She strode over and put a hand on Emma's shoulder. "He is hurting. Don't make him suffer longer than he already is," she said, her voice flat and matter-of-fact.

"You are a monster! You caused this! It's all your fault!" Emma screamed, hand rising to strike Nike.

Her hands shot out and clamped down on Emma's. Her grip tight as she forced it down to Emma's side. "You should go, you don't want to watch this."

Ross took a shaky breathe. "Emma, please…"

Tears burst anew, streaming down her dirt streaked face. Emma took a couple of deep breaths and visibly forced herself to relax. Nike let go of her. Ross sighed, relieved. Emma glared at Nike and she got the hint and stepped away.

It was a moment suspended in time. Nike was surprised when she saw it, she wondered how much had she missed in all her visits to the Strays' little apartment. Emma wrapped her arms around Ross's face, her fingers stroking his hair gently before she kissed him. It was soft and tentative at first, afraid it would cause him pain, but it got hungrier and more desperate. Emma was storing all the kisses she was ever going to get. Ross was giving it all he could give before the end.

 _They are in love._

Nike blinked, surprised but her heart twisted. On the streets, one took comfort where they could find it. Some found it in booze, Red Sand or the comforts of a Night Walker. Some demanded it from others, taking where no consent was given. Scars and Tenner had been hounding her since she got her first blood. The rare few found it in a person, a single person.

Emma had her one person. And Nike was supposed to take that person away from her. She averted her eyes, feeling she was defiling their farewell with her presence. Tension built behind her eyes as she blinked furiously.

 _How much can one cry?_

Nike kept her eyes on the ground, her fingers digging into the table she was leaning against. All she could see were Emma's feet. All she could hear were their whispered words. All she could smell were blood, sweat and piss. She pressed a pair of fingers against her temple, trying to hold back the headache that was pressing behind her eyes.

"Nike."

She looked up, surprised to find herself alone with Ross.

"She's not staying to see this," his voice shook. "She shouldn't have to."

Nike nodded, approaching the table. "How…" The question got stuck in her throat. How could she ask the person she was about to murder how he wanted to die? Did it matter? Wasn't it just cruel?

"Can you play some music?" he asked. "It's so quiet here. I think I'd like to hear one last song. You know?"

She hastily searched her music library on her omni-tool. If that was what Ross wanted, he'd get. Her finger swiped through the long list of songs she had, her eyes darted between the omni-tool and Ross. The ticking clock was loud in her ears. Eventually she stabbed a song at random. Guitar strings strummed as a clear voice sang.

 _It's starting here, it's starting now  
I've never known quite where to start_

Ross closed his eyes and hummed along. Nike draw her pistol and placed it on a side table. She pulled at the screens and they encircled the table. There was no need to make a mess.

 _What better time to let your hair down?  
Don't be scared of the dark_

"I'm scared," he confessed, his voice small and frail.

"I know."

"I don't want to die."

"I know," Nike's voice broke.

Ross opened his eyes, his pupils were dilated. He was putting on a strong face, Nike could tell. She had seen it on many a Red member on their first raid.

 _I'll tell you now  
I could lay like this forever_

He grimaced and groaned. The pain was creeping back. Eyes squeezed shut, he said, "Look out for them."

"I will."

"Especially Emma."

Nike took a deep breath and nodded before remembering he had his eyes closed. "I will."

It was a promise she hope she wouldn't break.

"Let's do this."

"Ok."

 _'Cause tomorrow isn't ever  
Coming 'round_

The pistol was lead in her hand. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her heart hardened for the duty she must carry out. Deep breaths pulled in through her nose, out through her mouth. Finger brushing against the trigger, gently threading through, resting against it.

 _If it's the end  
Then let's see it out together_

Ross had his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tight as he braced himself. The trigger felt stiff and unyielding. But this was her duty, she had to break one promise to keep the other. Nike never wanted to be in this position ever again.

"I'm sorry Ross."

 _We'll fall asleep and never hit the ground_

She pulled the trigger.

* * *

Emma was gone. She wasn't surprised. Who would want to see the murderer of her boyfriend? Stitches, however, was waiting for her. His eyes subdued. "Done?"

"I don't miss at point blank range."

Stitches took a breath as if ready to fire back a retort before thinking better of it. He nodded. The walk to the furnace below felt nothing like a funeral procession she had seen in movies. It wasn't raining, it wasn't outdoors, it wasn't lined with mourners and it didn't have a priest speaking words of comfort and god.

All Ross and Burger got were a pair of human working silently. Grunts of exertion as they hauled heavy stiffening bodies down a narrow staircase into the basement. The dark and cold walls bore down, leaning in like sentinels keeping watch. The furnace was huge. Its flames flickered casting dancing shadows against the walls. The orange glow all consuming and hungry.

Nike stiffened at the threshold, Burger's body was heavy in her arms. Ghosts of an old pain flared across her chest, the thud of a body hitting ground echoed in her ears. Screams and cries of phantoms tugged at her attention. It was all familiar, too familiar.

Krycek's voice rang out in her head. "You don't remember."

"Hey!" Stitches yelled, snapping her out of it.

Nike shook her head to clear her mind.

"Don't just stand there, help me," he grunted, struggling with Ross' body.

Finding nowhere good to put Burger down, she bent and lay him down on the ground before going to help the doctor. Ross was heavy in death as he wasn't in life. He tried to be a steady rock but he wasn't cut out for street life. He was probably a runaway, going from one bad situation to another, till he met her. And she killed him.

The plastic wrapped around his body like a shroud. Nike took a deep breath and hefted.

"Stand back," Stitches instructed once they loaded Ross onto the tray.

He hit a button and the shuttle rolled back. With a swift push, Ross was rolled into the maw. And that was that. It was all people ever were, dust and ashes. The fire ate it all, the struggles and fears, the hopes and dreams. It was gone in an instant. The moment she pulled the trigger, the moment the bullet impacted his head, the moment his brains and skull splattered across the screen she set up. Now it was completed when the fire consumed every single bit of him.

Stitches looked at her. "It's going to take a few hours."

She nodded, eyes focused on the fire. A thin line of fear creeping across her face.

"Do you want to keep what's left?"

Nike frowned. She wasn't interested in the bits of ashes. What was it to her? Gone was gone. There was no use keeping the ashes. But Emma, maybe she wanted to hold onto something to remind her of Ross.

She nodded.

* * *

Nike walked into Stitches' clinic with two other humans and a dog. She walked out alone, a failure. Nothing worked out. It was an unfamiliar feeling, it left her feeling angry at everything. She always had a solution. There was nothing her biotics couldn't solve. But she found it now — death.

Her body sore, her soul weary but she wasn't done. She still had work to do. Step by trudging step, she headed back to Meg's. Dread dogged her the entire way there.

Nike hesitated at Meg's door. She knew they wouldn't be at the cinema any longer. Meg would have taken them home. She wouldn't have turned them out into the streets no matter what they said. Food was probably used as a lure. She had been lured back to Meg's place plenty of times this way.

Taking a deep breath, shuffling the two Milo tins in her hands, she rapped her knuckles against the door. There was some shuffling and the door swung open. Meg looked at her. Anger, relief and panic raced across her face. The older woman seemed to have aged years over 24 hours.

"Where have you been? What happened?" she whispered, her hands gripping Nike's shoulders, shaking her lightly.

Nike's face crumpled as the past 24 hours pressed down her like an anchor. "I…"

Meg pulled Nike into her ample bosom. Nike's side protested at the motion, but she pressed her face into Meg's embrace. Shuddering sobs erupted between her clenched teeth. Wordless, grief-filled and gut wrenching, she cried hard. Her grip tightened on the tins. Meg rubbed her back, soothing and gentle in a way she never had before. But the relief was short-lived.

"The kids are awake," she whispered. "I don't know what happened but they are eager to go home. They won't stay with me."

Nike bit her lip and clamped her mouth shut to stop her breath from hitching. She rubbed the tears from her face as she heard Tiny asking, "Is it Nike? Is she back?"

Meg turned, giving Nike a glimpse of the two pairs of eyes behind her. Tiny's were apprehensive, but it quickly gave way to joy as he recognised her. Alex's were wary but they too softened upon seeing her. Faced with the kids, she wasn't quite sure how to tell them. But it wasn't a truth she could keep. Reality would readily prove her wrong.

"What's that?" Tiny asked, pointing at the tins she was holding.

Before Nike could even formulate an answer, Alex pushed passed Meg. Her brown eyes taking in Nike's appearance. "You're hurt," she said. It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. "And you've been crying. What happened?"

"I don't care what happened. I'm hungry and I want to go home," Tiny declared, promptly walking down the street.

Alex glared at the boy and hurried after him. Nike stared at the pair then back at Meg. The old woman smiled before sobering up when she met Nike's eyes. Her hand on Nike's shoulder, her grip tight and warm against Nike's skin. "Take care of yourself," she said. "I'll expect to see you at Friday's showing of The Notebook."

Nike took a deep breath, her nose completely blocked and snotty. Red-rimmed eyes looking everywhere but at Meg's.

"Promise me you will be there. I don't know what happened. And I know better than to ask. Just know I'll be waiting for you."

Nike nodded tightly and quickly followed the pair.

* * *

Tiny led the way while Alex kept casting backward glances at her. Nike's arm ached from how tightly she was gripping the tins. She hadn't realised death could weigh so heavily.

"Woah, what happened here?" Tiny asked, pointing at a large black patch on the ground. He squatted down and sniffed at it.

Alex frowned, glaring at her before darting back to the dried blood. She didn't need to speak for Nike to read the question in her eyes. Nike averted her eyes. "Come on," she said, "let's go."

Tiny straightened and looked sombre. "That's blood," he said in a small voice.

Alex took his hand and tugged him along. "I know. Come on."

The steps that led to their home felt dangerous, like a trap waited at the end. Pushing her instincts aside, Nike forced her legs to move. Tiny pushed the thin slat door aside and entered. "Emma! Ross! We're back!"

Silence greeted him. Cold ran down Nike's spine. She pushed pass Alex. The air was still. Dust motes danced in the afternoon sun. Everything seemed suspended in time. It looked like Ross was going to come out of the back room anytime, asking her what she brought this time. Emma was going to give her a shy smile as she started sorting out the new supplies.

Nike's instincts screamed. She handled the tins to Alex. "Stay behind me," she growled, pushing Tiny in Alex's direction as well.

Alex nodded tightly, keeping a firm grip on his arm. He whispered, "What's happening?"

"Shut up."

Nike ignored the pair and pulled her pistol free. A firm hand thrusted in their direction, she headed into the rooms. The smell of iron unmistakable. It grew stronger the nearer she approached the rooms. Fear made her heart slammed against her ribs. Her biotics buzzed weakly under her skin.

 _Did the gang return to finish the job? Did I fucking screw up again?_

The first room was empty, Tiny's and Alex's belongings strewn across the room. Nothing was amiss. The second was neat and tidy, practically empty in its sparseness. Ross' room. The last one belonged to Emma. She should be here. Nike expected to find her here.

 _Where is Emma?_

Dread dragged at her heart as it worked double time. Her pistol creaked slightly under her grip. Finger heavy against the trigger. As Nike rounded the final corner, she stiffened at the sight.

Red decorated the wall, blood streaked across the room. It was a madman's masterpiece painted with brains and bones. A body slumped against the wall as the centrepiece. Blood no longer wet but congealing in a large pool next to a blown apart head. A pistol laid limp on a thigh.

"Emma."

Nike was wrung dried. There was no more tears left in her. The past 24 hours had pushed her to the brink and then some. She had no more left to give.

"No!" Tiny screamed.

That brought her back to reality. She wasn't alone. This was no time to mourn or self flagellate. She turned and blocked the threshold with her body, making sure to holster her pistol first. "No, you don't need to see this."

Alex's screams joined Tiny's. The questions that she had been holding back spewed forth. "What happened? Where's Ross? Where's Burger? Why did you run off?"

Nike forcibly grabbed both of them at their wrists and hauled them into their room, weathering their blows to her back. When she let go, Alex glared at her, angry and fierce, tears standing in her eyes. Tiny was wailing without care.

"What happened?"

Nike stood before them, guilt rapidly replaced by anger. It was the only thing that could sustain her. If she gave in to guilt, she would never drag herself out from the pit of despair.

"They're dead," she spat.

Stunned silence greeted her. Lips curling she growled, "They're all fucking dead. Ross, Burger, Emma. Dead."

Every name that she uttered was a barb against her heart. She held onto them. The pain was hers to embrace.

"No!" Tiny screamed. "You're lying!"

He dashed towards the door but Nike was faster, one arm looped around his waist, she tossed him back onto the mattress. "This is life on the streets. You live or you die. Best you learn now."

Nike paced like a tiger caged. Anger crackling like electricity under her skin, fuelling her jerky motions. Her mind racing ahead towards plotting revenge.

Alex hugged Tiny tight with her short arms. She was not much older than he was, but her eyes held an edge. Despite the tears blurring her vision, she asked, "What happens now? Are you going to leave again? Are we supposed to fend for yourselves?"

Nike stiffened. She hadn't considered that. The question doused the burning fires of fury. She frowned. Leaving them here was out of the question. With Emma's rapidly stiffening body here, it would be untenable in a day or so. Meg's would be ideal but it would be imposing too much on her to take in two kids out of the blue.

Teeth ground together. There was only one answer.

"You're joining the Reds."

 **Lyrics taken from When the Water Meets the Mountains by Lewis Watson**


	21. Fallout

Chapter 21 - Fallout

Music buzzed lightly from Nike's omni-tool in the hot muggy air, a clear voice sang over the crickets.

 _I'm so afraid of where my life's going_

Her jaw was clenched tight as she walked, Alex and Tiny dragging the tattered remnants of their lives behind them.

 _Guess I've been ashamed, somehow I kept going_

The sky had taken on a cast of deep purple and red, like it was bruised by the events of the past 48 hours.

 _So tell me I'm good, tell me I'm good  
Tell me I'm good_

Nike yanked her mind from the path it was taking. She couldn't afford to dwell on it, not on Ross, not on Burger, not on Emma. It was all done, there was no turning back. This wasn't a game where you could load a save and take another path. This was life, this was reality.

 _Say I've done all I could, I've done all I could_

Her head was pounding, her side a fissure of pain like she had been ripped apart and hastily put back together. Pressure was building at her amp. She knew what that meant. "Not now, you can crash later," she growled at herself under her breath. She kept her eyes trained on Tiny and Alex. Her only focus was to get them into the base, into her room and lock the door behind her. "Walk faster," she growled.

Alex shot her a look, eyes red-rimmed, looking as tired as Nike felt. Tiny whimpered at her tone, clinging onto Alex. "What's wrong with you?" Alex muttered suspiciously.

Firecracker was perceptive, she had seen too much. Nike pressed a hand against her side and checked. _No blood, good, good._ "Just walk faster," she repeated, shuffling a little faster.

Tiny's sobs grew a little louder. Alex wrapped her arm around his shoulders and quickened their pace. Nike's chest ached, not in the way she would after a fight. This was inside, this was something no doctor could help with. She had been hollowed out.

 _I'll say sorry later. We just need to get to base. I can't glitch out here._

The base loomed into view, and Nike never felt happier. She was gone for two whole days. Her absence would have been noted. At this point, she didn't care what the consequences were. She just needed sleep.

The guards at the gates lifted their pistols and aimed at the kids. Nike straightened, the pain, the exhaustion hastily tidied behind a mask of fury she didn't feel. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she snarled.

Alex dragged Tiny behind her. Nike felt a hand clutching the back of her shirt. The guards, a couple of new faces she had seen around recently, flinched at her tone. "Stand down!"

They compiled instantly. Nobody would deny the Champion after all. "Where's Frank or the others?" she asked as she ushered Alex and Tiny ahead of her. Her heart thumped against her chest as she waited for the answer.

One guard gulped visibly. "They are out for a raid."

Nike's heart lurched. _Shit, was there supposed to be a raid today?_ She couldn't remember. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Frank wouldn't be around so there wouldn't be any questions, not till later in any case. She nodded curtly and gestured at Tiny and Alex. "Follow me."

Eyes were honed in them, but nobody dared stop the Champion, Nike of the Reds. With the rest away, she was the highest ranking around. Her pulse was a loud stuttering beat against her temples, her skull was trapped between an ever-tightening vice. She stumbled and braced herself against the wall. Wincing, she looked at the hand pressed against her side, it came away all red and blood. "Fuck." She had busted her stitches.

"You're hurt," Tiny whispered.

Alex grabbed Nike's arm, but she brushed Alex away. "No, not here," she hissed. With a grunt, she straightened, her shirt stuck to her back with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead. Her hair was more brown than red now. "Come on," she gasped.

The teeth of the key rattled as she fought to keep her trembling hands steady. Alex grabbed her hand and helped guide the key into the lock. Nike glanced about, relieved there was nobody watching.

 _This is bad, this is fucking bad._

"I'm going to…"

Nike took one step into her room and she was falling. Hands thrown out to break her fall, body twisting to make sure she wouldn't fall on her wound, but her amp seared, electricity shooting into her head and brain. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

Nike didn't feel her head bouncing against the floor. She didn't hear the frantic gasps of the kids as their small hands dragged her into the room. She didn't see the panicked look on their faces as they stared at her unconscious form.

* * *

"Nike!"

The voice sounded far away.

"Nike!" This was followed by a hard slap across her face.

She gasped, eyes snapped open instantly. Biotics licking up her arms as she levered herself upright. Pain lanced up her side as she winced, eyes watering, vision blurring.

"Get up! Who the fuck are you?" the voice snarled.

"Leave her alone!" a second voice shouted, this one pitched high.

Nike frowned and blinked the tears away, forcing herself to sit. Her headache had intensified, seeking fingers found a cut at the corner of her forehead and a lump to match.

 _What happened?_

It took a moment, but the memories came rushing back. The stench of ozone, the burning smell of gunfire, the overwhelming scent of blood. And death, so much death. Burger, Ross, Emma.

She clenched her fists and forced herself to her feet, hand braced against the nearest object, in this case Alex's shoulder. Eyes narrowing as she found the bright light streaming in from the window.

 _Fuck, it's morning. This means…_

She finally turned and found Krycek looking back at her. "Nike," he sneered. "Where have you been these past couple of days?"

 _Shit, shit, shit._

Nike withdrew her hand from Alex's shoulder. She could ill-afford to show any sign of weakness. "That's none of your fucking business," she snarled.

Krycek snorted, eyeing Alex and Tiny. "I didn't know your tastes run this young."

Alex bristled but calmed when Nike gripped her shoulder. She forcibly tugged Alex behind her, shoving her towards Tiny. "Watch him," she said before turning to Krycek. "Frank's looking for me I presume?"

"Yes," Krycek replied, the smirk across his face widened. "And you're in fucking trouble."

Nike's gaze hardened, hoping it hid the shudder that ran down her spine. "Get out of my room," she snarled at Krycek before gesturing towards Alex and Tiny. "Come on, I'll show you where's food."

She made sure her door was locked before handing the key to Alex. "Get the food, go into my room to eat it. Do not open the door for anyone else but me."

Alex nodded, her face pinched and serious. Tiny was pale. He had gone from being fearful to a state of numbness. She sighed. What the fuck was she supposed to do? She was no good with kids anyway. She was not his mother or sister. She never had them so how was she supposed to know how to deal with this anyway? But… they were her responsibility now. They all had to make adjustments. She pointed the common areas out quickly, noting Krycek was still hovering close by. He intended to watch Frank flay her alive, she figured. Jaw tightening, she repeated her admonishments and turned to Krycek. "Lead the fucking way then."

* * *

Nike entered the back room. Frank was counting a small pile of credit chits with Tenner. She heaved an internal sigh of relief. _Good, they have a good haul tonight. Maybe he is a good mood._

Frank looked up. His eyes blazed with a displeasure that dispelled any such notion from her mind. _Fuck._

"Rest of you out," he growled.

Tenner stiffened and hastily noted down where he stopped his count on his omni-tool before escaping. Krycek was not so easily deterred. He wanted to watch. Frank flicked his grey colourless eyes at the biotic. "Get the fuck out." It was a tone that brooked no disobedience. When the door clanked shut behind them, leaving Nike alone with Frank, her heart sank.

It had all gone to shit. Every single fucking thing. Nike steeled herself for what was to come.

"Where the fuck were you?" Frank asked, leaning back on his chair, feet propped up on his desk, scattering credit chits onto the floor.

"I… I was ambushed," the lie came easily. Her mind was already churning ahead. "They were wearing the Dowager's emblem. I didn't feel safe enough to come back to base on my own."

His eyes narrowed. She could almost see the cogs at the back of his mind turning. "The Guardians?"

Nike nodded. She had made her bed now she had to lie in it. "Yes, they shot me," she went on. "I went and get help from Stitches."

His brows rose. She knew he'd check, but she was confident Stitches would back any lie she told, if not for any other reason than to extort more credits from her.

"Are you lying?" Frank asked, his tone deceptively mild. "You wouldn't lie to the person who scrapped you off the street and made you the Champion you are today, would you?" He stood, chair dragging across the concrete floor roughly. A terrible smile split his mouth, his crooked teeth, yellowing from cigarettes, revealed behind the pull of his lips. A hand rested on her shoulder, its weight heavy. His grip tightened and squeezed. Nike remained upright _I can take this, I'm fine._ It was her left flank that's screaming at her, her shoulder was fine.

"No, why would I lie?" came the easy lie again.

"What about the kids in your room?" Frank asked, he draped his arm over her shoulder, fingers brushing against her chest.

Nike shrugged off his arm and glared. But her heart jumped at the mention of Alex and Tiny. _How the fuck am I supposed to explain them?_ He laughed at her annoyance.

"They seemed like good recruits. After all, they have been hanging out at our base often enough," she blurted.

"You're picking up your own strays now, Nike?" he snarled, his hand gripped her shoulder and shoved her against the desk.

Her hip connected against the edge solidly. Her side roared its displeasure. She gasped. Her hand pressed against the wound. Frank didn't seem to notice, instead he continued ranting. "Are you trying to take over the Reds huh? Do you think you're so smart now?"

With every question, he pressed his weight against her. Nike tightened her jaw, refusing to give in to his threats but at the same time she couldn't defend herself. It wouldn't end well for her or Alex and Tiny, not if she wanted to continue enjoying the Reds' protection.

"No! Fuck, I—"

"You think just because you're the Champion now, you can do what you like?"

There was a thump against the door. Frank whirled around, releasing her shoulder. "What?" he roared as the door swung open.

Nike panted, hunched over unable to straighten as she tried to breathe through the lancing agony. Though the door was blocking whoever was on the other side, she recognised the voice. "Boss, it's fight day. We need to head off soon."

She never dread fight days before, she had always relished it. It was the stage where she reigned, everyone cheered and screamed her name. Today was different. She was shot, she had just glitched, she hadn't eaten. She was not ready.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

But when Frank turned back to her, Nike shoved all of that under the mask. The mask that said Champion, Enforcer and all around badass. Krycek pushed the door open wider and strode back in. "I need my dose," he said.

Frank smiled. "Ahh yes, your dose. How could I forget?"

Nike stared as he retrieved the vial with its swirling red contents. Krycek smirked, teeth flashing at her. "It's my debut today."

She had no words for him. Her eyes were focused on the syringe, the needle and the Red Sand. Frank clamped his hand on Krycek's head and pushed it forward and down. The needle stabbed into the back of Krycek's neck. Her eyes widened in horror, her body stiffened, her hands clenched into fists. Krycek grunted against it. When he straightened, she saw a flash of red across his eyes. A blue corona erupted from around him. For a split second she could feel his field sweeping over her in a wave, testing and prodding. He grinned, all sharp canines and snaking tongue. "Felt that huh?"

"Go," Frank said, dropping the syringe next to the vial on his desk. "Win."

"Of course," Krycek retorted and left.

Nike let go of the breath she didn't know she was holding. She turned to follow but Frank called out. "Nike, you know what happens if you lose right?" he asked, his finger tapping against the vial before jerking his chin at the blood seeping through her shirt.

She gritted her teeth and walked out without another word.

* * *

Nike was worried when she left. Alex and Tiny were going to be alone on base. Though Frank never spoke a word against them joining the Reds, there was going to be a fallout sooner rather than later. She couldn't paint a larger target on their backs than what they've got already. In the end, despite being the Champion, despite being surrounded by the Reds, she didn't have many she could turn to. There were no friends, no allies, no trust. The closest person she had among the Reds was Cutter.

"Watch them for me?" she asked tentatively.

Alex eyed Scars suspiciously. Tiny clutched her shirt tightly, refusing to make eye contact with anyone but the floor. Nike could see the retort on the tip of Alex's tongue but surprisingly she bit her lip and never spoke. Nike swallowed her relief.

Cutter shrugged. "You could get one of them," he gestured at a bunch of the new members, "to watch them."

Nike frowned. "I'm asking you, not them. Come on, they can take care of themselves. Just watch them for me."

Alex was literally vibrating with barbs and retorts unspoken. Nike shot her a look and Alex met her glare head on. Cutter sighed. "Fine, fine." He grabbed Tiny's arm and said, "Boy you sit here."

Tiny yelped and struggled. Alex snarled, "Don't touch him!"

Cutter looked at Nike. His gaze spoke for him.

Nike whirled on Alex and Tiny, hands grabbed them close before sinking down on one knee to speak to them. "I've got to go fight."

"Why can't we come," Tiny wailed, tears threatening to spill. "What if you don't come back? What if you…"

Alex shook him roughly and growled into his ear. "No, we do not say their names anymore. You know this."

Nike's eyes flicked between the two. She was beginining to realise how terrifying it was for them while she glitched out. They had made sure nobody found out about her problem. They had sat for who knew how long with her, unable to do anything but wait. She must have looked like she was dead, after Emma, it must have been fucking terrifying.

She tightened her jaw. This wasn't the time or place to talk about it. Scars was tapping his feet and Krycek was sneering at her. The best thing she could do was win the fucking fight and get back to them. Then maybe, _maybe_ , she could begin to figure it all out. She clenched her fists, suddenly wishing for Burger. The ache in her chest was acute, she almost gasped at the sudden longing. Coughing, she prayed nobody saw the slip.

"Nike, hurry the fuck up," Scars yelled.

She ignored him and looked at what remained of the Strays. They were hers now. And she would fight to make sure they didn't get throw out onto the streets the moment her back was turned. Her hand lifted, starting to reach out towards Tiny and Alex only to flinch back.

 _No, nobody need to know they are important to me._

Instead she stood. "What the fuck are you talking about, Tiny? I'll always come back. I'm the fucking Champion. Just stay the fuck out of trouble," she snarled instead. "If you have any questions, just ask Cutter."

Tiny stiffened, fear snapped back over his eyes but Alex nodded. The look that passed between them reassured her at least Alex understood. She'd be able to explain to Tiny better than Nike could anyway.

Nike turned away and strode towards Scars and Krycek. "Let's go win a match."

* * *

Nike waited. She was always the last fight after all. It was befitting of the Champion to be the anchor show.

She breathed. Chest rising and falling, each breath deliberate and slow. Her hands wind wrappings around her fingers, over her palm and knuckles; back and forth, over and over. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed like the inside of her head. Her thoughts refused to shut up. She was just here less than three days ago.

 _72 hours and everything had changed._

"Fuck," she cursed, straightening. It was a mistake. Her side flared. "I wasn't even shot, this is just a fucking graze."

Nike unzipped her jacket. The bandages that wrapped around her middle was gone. She hadn't replaced them after she busted her stitches. One pack of medi-gel was all she managed to grab before being forced over to the Underbelly. The antiseptic and analgesic properties helped for a little while, but its effect were wearing off. The wound was open, bleeding slightly and raw. She didn't know how many stitches Stitches had put in but half of them had busted open and the rest looked ready to rip too.

"Shit, shit, shit." She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing a pack of frozen peas against the wound. If nothing else, she could numb it.

The door swung open. She dropped the peas and zipped up her jacket, a snarl already on her face at the intrusion. The roar of the crowd swept into her little prep room as Krycek entered. His grin couldn't be any wider. "I've showed her," he laughed, speaking to nobody in particular. "I've fucking showed her. Throw me away, treat me like trash? I had the last laugh!"

He stiffened when he realised Nike was watching. His corona was still shimmering in an aura around him, distorting the air around him like a heat mirage. His knuckles despite the wrappings looked bloodied and raw, bruises was forming just over his arms and legs. Victory was better than any high, she knew from experience. Nothing could wipe that triumphant grin off his face.

"Congratulations on your win," she said evenly.

Krycek snorted. "You won't be keeping your title very long now, Champion."

"Fuck, I'm just trying to be nice."

"Nike, nice? We will never be friends. When you remember, you'll know why."

Nike frowned. She was tired of him messing with her. Always on and on with his cryptic talk of a shared past. He dragged a finger over his sweaty chest, tracing the patch of scarred skin across his chest and up his left shoulder. Now she had a closer look, it looked suspiciously like a burn wound. Images of a burning building, a boy screaming at her as she fell. Nike gasped, blinking furiously. _Me? Was that me? Are those not just dreams? Nightmares?_

Krycek smirked and turned away, retrieving a towel to clean himself off. Scars popped his head in, "Nike, are you ready?"

She rose, pulling the hood over her head, hand shoved into the pockets. She straightened, stifling the gasp that threatened to undo her paper thin facade. Scars didn't wait, he turned to go. "Come on, credits wait for no man."

She sighed and followed but Krycek called out. As she turned to give him a parting retort, the breath rushed out of her. It was something hard, maybe an elbow, or a fist. It didn't really matter either way. One moment Krycek was an arm's length away, the next he was close enough that his breath tickled her ear.

"Win, Champion."

 **Lyrics taken from Before I Go by American Authors**


	22. The Champion Falls

Chapter 22 - The Champion Falls

Pain bright and keen slammed into her cheek reaching through flesh, hitting bone. Her eyes snapped open but shadows kept crawling back.

"Wake up!" The voice was far away, too easily ignored.

At the back of Nike's mind there was an urgency to sit up, to scream and shout, but it was too intangible to hold on. Like smoke from a stick of cigarette drifting away, aimlessly and unmoored, her eyelids sagged shut.

Another bright spike of pain broke out over her other cheek. Her eyes felt like lead shutters, too heavy to move. Willpower was sand trickling through her fingers. She rolled onto her side, head sore, eyes mere slits. Groaning, her fingers scratched at the ground as she tried to lever herself up.

"Fuck," the voice shouted, too far away for her to care. "You fucking lost!"

Awareness returned in drips and drabs. Though her head pounded like the entire Underbelly had taken up residence in there, she managed to sit up. Her gorge rose and she gagged, but there was nothing to throw up. She hadn't had the time to eat before she left the base.

Nike had walked out onto the stage, hurt and hungry. Expecting to win was just playing with fire. She lost, of course she lost. Krycek had made sure of it.

* * *

Nike couldn't straighten as she trailed after Scars towards the stage. The roar of the crowd reminded her how she couldn't lose, how she couldn't afford to. Krycek's snigger rang in her ears, but she couldn't retaliate. She had to save her strength for the fight. Just making her way onto the stage, pretending she was fine took all her effort. Her side was a stripe of fire, threatening to burn her from the inside out.

"Presenting the Champion!" The crowd screamed.

She raised an arm half-heartedly, her jaw locked tight. The arena rocked with the sheer noise. her opponent was a girl with hair as red as hers but spiked up in a Mohawk.

"Will the pretender win?" Boos rang out. "Or will the Champion reign once more?"

Nike didn't recognise her opponent, but she knew the Dowager's emblem tattooed into her arm anywhere. The Dowager's biotic grinned and stripped out of her jacket, dressed in standard sports bra and compression shorts. Nike kept hers on. She could ill afford revealing her wound. Her jacket was stuck to her skin, wet. Something was trickling down her thigh. She wiped her hand over it. The red wraps absorbed whatever it was easily enough.

When they bowed to the Dowager, her vision went white. Straightening after was also a whole other adventure. Her jacket was completely stuck to her back, sweat beaded across her forehead. She widened her stance so she didn't seem so unsteady on her feet.

"Are the combatants ready?" The crowd screamed for blood.

Nike raised her arms, beckoning at her biotics. It came like it always did, but this time it brought along a lancing jolt through her flank. The graze had probably widened after whatever Krycek did. Busting her stitches probably didn't help either. Her shoulders stiff, her stance rigid, she readied herself.

Everything after was a blur. Her memories were hazy at best, but one thing stood out. Her jacket was immediately honed in on by her opponent. It was an easy target to wrap one's hand around. The moment it came loose, Nike knew the game was up. Defence wasn't the best offence in this case.

The crowd went from booing as she kept mere inches away from her opponent attacks, to outright shouting for her death. Never had the crowd turned that quickly, that viciously.

She got only one good look at her wound, what was a finger width groove craved into her flank, travelling from belly to her ribs, was now a fissure that threatened to split her in two. At least, it felt that way. She pressed her hand against it only to flinch away at the fire it woke.

Her opponent grinned and Nike's fate was sealed.

* * *

"We lost?" Nike asked, cotton in her mouth. They were still at the ring. That meant she hadn't blacked out for very long.

"You," Scars snarled. "You fucking lost!"

Now that she was more conscious than not, he stalked off. Probably eager to claim credit for Krycek's win. When her thoughts turned to her fellow biotic, it ignited a fury she didn't thought possible, but she hurt too much to contemplate revenge.

The slow walk from the Underbelly back to the base was thankfully done under the cover of night. Nobody need to see the now ex-Champion of the ring limping back like a dog with her tail between her legs. She snorted, shuffling along the empty street, desperately craving for a cig.

Her chest ached again. She was desperately cold. Her back was unguarded, her flank was empty. She missed the extra pair of eyes that ranged ahead of her. She missed the brush of bristly fur against her leg. She missed the clicking of claws against the concrete following her. She missed Burger intensely.

Tears were shed, unashamedly as she lifted her head to look at the sky. There were no stars, not in the slums anyway. This place was thrown down a hole so deep no brightness could reach. Her lower lip trembling despite how she trapped it between her teeth. She couldn't hold it back any longer. Sob after sob tore through her throat, her hand stuffed into her mouth to muffle it. The gloom of the slums hidden her sorrow from everyone else. A warm breeze chased her all the way back to the base, limping and staggering like the fucked up human she was. Her face was dry by the time she stumbled into the base. The lookouts averted their gaze when she approached.

 _All the better, I guess. Fallen Champion and all._

Her vision was blurring again, her hands were trembling. Vaguely she remembered she hadn't eaten a single thing in more than 24 hours, but the thought of eating turned her stomach. Torn between just heading to her room to sleep this fugue state off and heading into the common room to grab something to eat, she hesitated. Snorts and snores of people sleeping without a care in the world filled the air. Quick steps approaching, it caught her attention, for a moment her heart leapt.

 _Burger?_

Nike turned gingerly. It was a foolish hope when reality literally slammed into her. She hissed, almost doubled over in pain. "What happened to you?" the voice growled, small hands gripped her arm.

 _Oh, it's just the Firecracker._

"I…" Words wouldn't come. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

"You're shaking," Alex hissed. "Come on!"

Nike didn't know how she made it, but this time she sank into her bed and not slam head first onto the floor. She sighed. The thin mattress provided relief she didn't know she was seeking. Eyes too heavy to keep open, they started to sag shut.

"Don't let her sleep, I'm going to get food for her," Alex said. "See if you can get her to drink this."

The door opened and shut, all of it was inconsequential. Nike barely had the capacity of mind to care. All she wanted to do was sleep and never wake up. Burger was gone. She lost. Frank's threat rang in her ears, loud and menacingly.

Small hands shoved a straw into her lips. "Drink!" Tiny instructed frantically. "Drink! Alex will get mad if you don't."

Fear seized her heart. Nike's hands rose to bat the straw and whatever it was attached to away. "No, no Red Sand. I don't want it."

"No, no it's not Red Sand. This is just an energy drink."

Her eyes peeled open. The blurry figure was resolving into Tiny's anxious face. Tears were standing in his eyes as he shoved the straw back into her mouth.

"I don't know what's happening, but you just got to drink. Please!" his voice broke at the last word.

The ache in Nike's chest intensified. She found it easier to comply than to meet Tiny's eyes. All she saw was her guilt made manifest. He was suffering the consequences for her stupid decisions. Killing had led to this. Her fists, her pistol, her biotics couldn't solve everything, they didn't fix anything. She had been stupid, she still was.

"I can't lose you too. You're all I have left, other than Alex," he whimpered, hands tightening around the energy drink he held up for her, he buried his face into her chest.

Nike grunted. Though it tugged at her wound, she reached over and petted Tiny's head. Something slid into place inside her. She couldn't lie to herself any longer. Alex and Tiny were her responsibility. For better or worse, she was no longer just fighting for herself and her place in the Reds. She had something, someone to protect.

The door swung open. she flinched, turning to look, hand already reaching for a pistol that wasn't there. Did she lose it? Did she go to the Underbelly with it? She couldn't remember.

 _Shit._

Fear ran down her spine, it seized her heart and squeezed.

 _No, no, no._

Her lungs shuddered as she pulled at her core. Her biotic spluttered and flickered. There was nothing more to give.

 _Please, not Frank, not the fucking Red Sand._

In walked Alex with Cutter in tow. Nike gasped audibly with relief, tremors ran through her body uncontrollably. Tears pricked at her eyes. Deep down, she knew she was merely delaying the inevitable. Frank always followed through with his promises, always.

"Help her," Alex demanded.

Cutter looked at Nike, a frown etched into his brow. He strode in and quickly gave Alex and Tiny instructions. When they scurried out to retrieve the stuff he wanted, he stared flatly at Nike. "What the fuck happened to you? You're supposed to win, what the fuck have you done to yourself?"

She opened her mouth to explain, but the words refused come. What was she supposed to say? Confess about her glitches? Uncontrollable spells where she lost consciousness if she pushed her biotics over some invisible line. These started not long after getting her implant and amp. How much was it just because she was too fucked up to use her biotics properly, how much was it because of Stitches' botched surgery? She couldn't say, she had nothing to go on.

Was she supposed to tell Cutter how badly she had fucked up with the Strays? Killing random rival gang members because they were fucking with the Strays. She was naive enough to think she could protect them. Time had proven how wrong she was. She couldn't even win a bloody fight. How could she ever thought she could keep anyone safe?

Tears threatened to spill again, her nose wrinkled, her eyes squeezed shut as she took a shuddering breath.

"Fucking hell Nike. No tears, you don't get to cry over this. You lost, you cost the Reds credits. You cost me my cut," he spat.

She fought to hold back the tears, but her body refused to listen and they leaked from the squeezed shut eyelids. Cutter rolled her onto her side. She cried at the sudden motion. In the minutes she laid on her bed, the tacky blood dried and her mattress was stuck to the wound. The roll had tore the wound open again.

A low growl rumbled from Cutter's chest. His hands were rough but perfunctory. He never spoke another word, working silently through grunts and gestures when Alex and Tiny returned. He put needle and thread through skin and flesh, closing the wound that no doubt had gotten worse after the fight.

Nike's strength was ebbing despite Tiny's repeated attempts to make her eat, she could stomach nothing but the sugary sweet energy drinks. She was only vaguely aware of Cutter leaving the room when the door latched. Alex wedged a chair against the door, making sure it was tight as best she could. Nike, half her face smushed against the mattress, opened one half-lidded eye and nodded in approval. Alex had good instincts. Maybe they didn't need her. After all who could she protect? She failed Burger, the only thing that ever mattered to her.

Her body was no longer on the edge of complete shut down but she was tired, her soul weary. "Come on," she whispered, throat all sticky with sugary drinks.

Tiny didn't need any coaxing. He climbed into the bed, curling himself into as small as a ball as he could make himself, fitting himself into the space between her stomach and legs. Alex's lips twisted, starring balefully at her.

"I'm doing my best," she rasped. "It will get better…"

Nike prayed she wasn't making another promise that she was going to break later. Alex sighed and made a big show of trudging over to the bed. The bed was small, it wouldn't have fit all three of them but somehow they made it work.

As Nike surrendered to sleep, she swore she felt a warm furry back pressed against her bare skin.

* * *

Nike felt like she was walking on eggshells. Frank didn't even called her to his office, she barely saw him the first 48 hours after the news swept through the Slums that she had lost. Alex and Tiny for their part seemed to be accepted into the Reds without trouble. Alex was constantly around, taking on duties that Nike used to do, delivering messages, goods or whatever else. Tiny stuck close to Alex, tagging along on all errands she ran.

Nike sat sullenly outside the base, back against the low wall where once she had a tug of war with Burger using a bag of fries. She waved as Alex headed out with Tiny. Her cigarette traced an arc through the air, smoking trailing behind it. Alex ignored her. This she had expected. As long as it wasn't pure fury over their circumstances, Nike felt she was making progress with Firecracker. Tiny returned her wave before jogging to keep up with Alex. Gone was the boy that wouldn't shut up. Gone was the boy who was quick to smile and poke fun at her.

"Another victim to my stupidity," she muttered under her breath, turning her gaze away.

She wasn't wanted or needed. She couldn't train, she didn't dare call on her biotics. All she could do now was heal. The hot noon sun beat down on her, the air humid and muggy, the kind that made her feel she was breathing water rather than air, but she didn't move. She took a long pull on the cig, bitterness filled her mouth. Sweat rolled down her back and brow, soaking through cloth, leaving a stain against the wall she leaned. She exhaled, the smoke escaped, eager to flee. Music played softly from her omni-tool as she turned her face away from the sun. She didn't deserve it.

 _In my defence all my intentions were good  
And heaven holds a place somewhere for the misunderstood  
You know I'd give you blood if it'd be enough_

The ache in her chest grew, it was a steel band that tightened and squeezed in intervals. Relenting only allowing her to draw breath before twisting tight again. It refused to budge no matter all the reasons she told herself how things weren't entirely her fault. Those brown eyes of Burger's always appeared when she closed hers. Those eyes begged for a kindness she refused because she was selfish.

 _Devils on my doorstep since the day I was born  
It's hard to find a sunset in the eye of a storm  
But I'm a dreamer by design and I know in time we'll put this behind_

A scrape of a foot against loose gravel made her eyes snapped open. Nike wasn't sure of her position in the Reds any longer. She could ill afford to be complacent. The cig tossed carelessly to the ground as she went for her pistol.

"Scared much?"

It was Krycek. Her lips curled as she forced herself to stand. Her wound protested at the motion. "Fuck off."

He chuckled. "Not so great now huh, Champion," he dragged the last word out, a taunt and threat rolled in one.

"What the fuck do you want?" she growled, her pistol aimed to the ground, but she refused to holster it.

"Just checking in on you," he replied easily. "I was a little concerned about your wound."

Nike snarled. "You fucking cost me the fight!"

"No, you cost yourself the fight. You weren't ever going to win anyway. I just…" he smirked, "made sure."

"Fuck you."

"Don't worry, you'll thank me later. The hit is fucking awesome. When you get your dose you'll know what I'm talking about," he said. "You'll remember. You will fucking remember what you've done."

She bared her teeth, pistol rising, hand shaking with how hard she was gripping it. The desire, no the need to just shoot that fucking smirk off Krycek's face rose in her gut. How she wanted to send her biotics slamming into him. _No, you're in a fuck ton of trouble, you're not going to make things worse for yourself. You're not alone anymore._ Taking a deep breath through her clenched teeth, she lowered her pistol but still not holstering it.

Krycek's grin widened. "Anyway, Frank says he wants to see you."

Just like that, with a single sentence, fear came crashing back down. Her jaw tightened. "Now?"

"What do you think?"

Nike walked back into the base. Krycek had been pushed out of her mind. She was already cycling through all perfectly good reasons why she lost, but it wouldn't change a single thing. She knew that in her bones. Her feet dragged as she approached the back room. That steel reinforced door never felt so ominous. Her heart threw itself against her ribs as she lifted her hand to knock.

Tenner opened the door. Before she could enter, he pressed close, hand grabbing her arm, mouth against her ear. "I could get you out of trouble if you lie with me," he whispered.

Nike flinched back. She reacted before she could give his offer any serious thought. Biotics blazed to life as she shoved him back, lightly by her standards. He stumbled and fell on his ass. Fury and fear flickered across his eyes in equal measure.

"Bitch, you don't know a good thing even if it bites your fucking ass. Frank is going to skin you alive," he snapped. "And I'll fuck your broken ass then."

Blue flames rippled up her arms and engulfed her. The blade she kept in her shoe, shot right into her open palm. It was a simple flick and the keen edge was deployed. Her eyes hardened as she growled, "That's provided you have a fucking dick to fuck me with, Tenner."

The threat was clear enough. He scrambled back on his feet and fled without another word of retort. Nike took a shuddering breath and slid the blade back into her shoe. She squared her shoulders and walked into the lion's maw.

Frank looked up. His grey eyes flat, flinty and altogether displeased at the sight of her. The vial sat on his desk, next to a syringe. Nike's footsteps faltered. She froze and kept to the far wall, eyes trained on the vial. The terminal on his desk was filled with data and documents, maps and blueprints. Normally, Nike would be curious but not today.

"What took you so long?" The question was a slap in her face.

She jerked her eyes to meet Frank's. "Krycek—"

"No matter," he interrupted. "Here is a credit chit." This, he tossed onto the ground. "Go over to Transit Hub, meet my contact and hand him that."

"But couldn't you just—"

Frank didn't speak, his hand went to the vial and touched it. Words dried up in her mouth. She swallowed. Carefully, with her eyes on him, she picked the credit chit up.

"Pick up the package he has for me."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak anymore. Turning to go, hoping against hope this was the end of it, but as she was half way across the threshold, Frank spoke. "Bring it back to me."

She stiffened and turned back. Green eyes finding grey ones, if anger could be made physical, he had succeeded. Rocking back on her heels, she waited as he spat, "No detours, no fucking running off to that cinema. Do not think I do not know what the fuck you get up to out there, Nike. You're here at my tolerance."

She nodded meekly and left.

* * *

The walk to the Transit Hub was supposed to be simple, but it wasn't. Nike stopped at the crossroads and looked at the pile of cardboards. She stared. Jaw twitching, eyes turning hot as a lump formed at her throat. She couldn't stay, but she couldn't leave either. Memories of Burger with his tongue lolling out, panting at her, tail wagging lazily in the air at the sight of her, flickered before her eyes.

Her jaw ached, her chest hurt. A fresh stick of nicotine clamped tight between her fingers, she wrenched her gaze away, managing to look at the ground instead. Eyes were on her, rival gang members, kids that belonged to no gang stared and looked. She wasn't safe as whispers drifted towards her.

"Look, it's Nike. She used to be the Champion."

"She lost I heard."

"But she was hurt before the fight."

"That's just what she wanted you to think. She lost, cause she's a girl. Girls are never meant to be champions."

Nike stiffened. The fight she lost wasn't a big deal, not in the face of all the deaths. Their names would stick in her mind forever, people she had let down, lives she had burnt because she was rash.

She moved on auto-pilot, her feet taking her to the Transit Hub without any conscious thought. She was distracted. If she wasn't, she would have realised she was being followed. Eyes, not the curious kind, were tracking her movements.

Midtown was still polished, people were still busy getting from one place or another. Here, nobody cared about her. Here, there were no memories and she was safe. It was tempting to lose herself among them, stow away on one of the ships departing Earth. It would have been so easy. But… Tiny and Alex, she couldn't just leave, not after everything.

She turned towards the meeting spot, a cafe right smack in the middle of the Transit Hub, crammed back with weary travelers and wearier staff. She found Frank's contact cramped in a corner, out of sight from most of the patrons.

Nike frowned at the load she was saddled with. It was a long case, almost as long as a guitar case, but this was very obviously not one. It was heavy as fuck. "What is it?" she asked as she unlatched the case.

Inside was a shotgun but one she had never seen before. All matte black, elegantly curved frame cradling a smooth steel barrel. The muzzle was wide, the under grip and handle were comfortable and solid. Nike pulled it from the case and hefted it in her hand. It was heavier than she liked, but she was used pistols and not much else.

Frank's contact didn't speak. He merely loomed over her, arms folded across his chest. Claws rapped against his armour as he waited for her less than capable inspection of the shotgun. "Runt, just pay me and I'm on my way," the krogan rumbled.

Nike frowned and stubbornly scanned it with her omni-tool. It beeped a negative on its search of the extra-net.

He chuckled. It sounded like rocks rattling inside his chest. "Look," he said, yanking the shotgun out of her hands and expertly racking the barrel and dry firing it, "this is a highly illegal shotgun." The thunk of the hammer hitting home was formidable even if it wasn't loaded. "You shouldn't even be waving it around here," he admonished as he pushed the shotgun back into the foam cut outs inside the case.

Nike glanced over her shoulder. Outside, alien visitors to Earth were busy trying to cramp themselves into the tram that was taking them down to the Earth International flights terminal. Humans on the other hand were waiting for the tram going in the opposite direction. The one that was going to take them up to the Space terminal. For a while her eyes lingered on the trams, but she reminded herself why she was doing what she was doing.

"Nobody is watching."

"Nobody that you see," the krogan retorted.

She grunted, acknowledging the point. "But what is it?"

He leaned forward, his chin almost brushing against her head. He ran his claws over the case as if caressing the shotgun through it. "This is a Spectre grade shotgun, and it cost your boss a fuck ton of credits."

Nike hummed.

"Runt, hand over that credit chit and run along back to your boss now."

She lifted her eyes to meet the blood red ones of the red humped krogan. "My name is not runt, it's Nike."

He snorted, his breath blew back her hair. She wrinkled her nose. "Runt, I like your attitude. Name's Urdnot Wrex. Remember it," he growled.

Nike didn't flinched. She was numbed by everything that had happened. A krogan wasn't scary. Besides, he wasn't trying to intimidate her. His weapons were, after all, still holstered. She slid the credit chit over and waited for him to check. At his nod, she stood and lifted the case. It was really fucking heavy.

"Need a hand to get it out the door?" Wrex asked, probably expecting her to drop the case five minutes into her journey back.

She shook her head and tugged at her core. The case was encased in her biotics and it eased the strain on her arm and shoulder. "I've got this," she smirked, enjoying that little moment of victory when Wrex's brow lifted.

* * *

The lightness in her chest was gone by the time the base came into view. Never had she hated to returning home before.

 _Home? Is it a home? What the fuck is a home?_

She sighed, attempting to force the tightness from her chest. It just squeezed harder. Hopefully with this job done, she could slowly crawl back into Frank's good graces. She glanced about and caught a glimpse of Scars ordering Alex about. Tiny was also kept busy fetching and retrieving things for him. Nike scowled. What could she say that wouldn't turn them into a target? Nothing.

So she headed straight to Frank like he instructed, no detours, no side trips. Tenner was nowhere to be seen, probably still too afraid to look at her. Frank was at his terminal when dropped the case on his desk with a thunk. He frowned.

Nike didn't wait and turned to leave. Her job was done.

But Frank called out. "You have a fight tomorrow."

She stiffened. "Fight night is not till Friday," she said, her voice surprisingly calm under the circumstances.

Their eyes met. "It's a private fight." Frank grinned. "You know what that means."

The chill that ran over her spine, one that reached her bones and refused to leave, not even hours later, while she lay in her bed, sandwiched between Alex and Tiny, praying the morning never dawned.

 **Lyrics taken from For What's It's Worth by Liam Gallagher**


	23. Red Sand, Red Queen

Chapter 23 - Red Sand, Red Queen

The morning came too quickly. Sunlight streamed through the window, dust motes danced in the grey light of dawn. Alex and Tiny had somehow forced Nike to the edge of the bed. She hung off the edge, fingers brushing the floor as the press of the smaller bodies made her felt too hot. She blinked, wishing she could shove them off, but the pressure of them against her back and over her legs gave her a comfort she couldn't put into words.

Grief threatened to choke the air from the lungs, she missed Burger.

Nike shoved the ache away. She hated how it made her feel. Weak, small and helpless, she couldn't afford this. The soft sleepy murmurs against her back, the insistent weight burrowing under her arms reminded her what was at stake.

It was fight day and that meant Red Sand. Fear welled up like a sewage pipe back flowing, black, brackish and foul. It choked and filled her senses in a suffocating hold over her chest. She let her breath out explosively, not realising she was holding it.

"You ok?" Alex asked, her voice raspy with sleep.

Nike blinked, she hadn't realised Alex was awake. "Yeah, just go back to sleep," she whispered.

"Liar." But Alex didn't speak again, instead she shifted and pressed her back against Nike's.

Nike squeezed her eyes shut. _It will be ok, one time won't make me a Red Sand fiend right? It's just once. I'll show Frank I don't need it to win. It will be fine. It has to be._

* * *

Still when the time came, Nike was more nervous than she was at her first fight. She was young and stupid then. Now she was a little older and hopefully a little smarter, she realised she had something to lose.

"Fight time, Nike," Frank said, bike keys jingling in his hand. "Time to go."

She stiffened and quickly reassembled the pistol she was cleaning. Standing, she shoved the pistol into her waistband and nodded. This was highly irregular, the threat of Red Sand not withstanding. A fight not sanctioned by the Dowager wasn't unheard of but it was heavily frowned upon, so heavily blood were spilled and gangs decimated over them. This was dangerous in more ways than one, but she couldn't find the capacity within herself to worry about what Frank was up to.

He gestured at a back pack on the floor. She moved to shoulder it and was surprised by the weight, one she recognised. It was about as heavy as the Spectre grade shotgun she carried back yesterday, minus the case. "Where are we doing?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter. Just know that this is the first part in a plan that's finally coming together," Frank replied easily.

In the years since, the Reds had upgraded their bikes. Gone were the almost cute scooters they used to ride. These were proper ones, low slung seats and long gleaming handle bars. A single headlight dominated the front. Frank swung a leg over and settled into the seat, the petrol tank fitted between his legs. Nike would have been overjoyed just to be able to ride one. The boys never let her. Excuses were always found, but she gathered it was because she's a girl.

However, this wasn't the way she wanted to ride the bike, not to a mysterious fight, not with the red Doom of Damocles hanging over her head.

The engine revved and it jerked her attention back to the present. It was loud and practically an auditory assault. He jerked his head and Nike climbed on. Before she was ready, the bike lurched into motion. One hand gripped the back pack tightly, her other hand searched frantically for a hand hold to keep herself from slipping.

Wind whipped her hair loose of the hair tie. They lashed against her face but the speed picked up, the weight against her chest lifted in a way she couldn't understand, but the feeling faded all too quickly when Frank stopped and parked.

They were at the Screamers' headquarters. Guards wearing the grinning mask of the Screamers' stood guard at the makeshift gate that barred the outside from their compound. It was a burnt out shell of a building. The top half looked as if it was sheared off by a giant blade and had partially fallen in on itself. Rusted debris too large to move by hand littered the small field next to it. There was a low wall just inside the compound. It was probably what's left of the original gate. There embedded into the stone was a metal plate with "Singapore State Orphanage" etched into it.

Nike frowned. The pungent stench of burning plastic, the groaning of metal warping under sheer heat and the after image of white powder drifting down against a night sky flickered across her mind. She hefted her burden onto her shoulder and kept a tight grip on it. Frank was greeted by a tall bald man. Skinner, Frank called him. They spoke, grinning and gesturing at her. Frank entered, with complete confidence she would follow. He wasn't wrong.

They walked through the gate and into the gutted building. Nike's heart started racing. It wasn't the anticipation of a fight. Fights were her everyday. She was used to those. She knew what to expect. But this? This private fight, what the fuck was this? The fact Frank and herself were walking into what ostensibly was a rival gang's lair was completely unheard of.

Her eyes darted to meet Frank's but he was too occupied speaking to Skinner. Dread and fear was creating a maelstrom inside her guts. Her healing wound started to twinge uncomfortably.

Eventually they got to top floor. It was open to the air, its roof long gone. Scattered bird droppings, feathers and old nests littered the floor. Everyone was up there, everyone was marked in some manner as a Screamer. And Nike's footsteps faltered as her mind yelled trap over and over in her head, but she followed Frank. What else could she do?

There was a loose circle formed in the middle of the space. There awaited her were five burly men. All of them had stripped down to their waist. Arms swinging, legs stretching as they grinned at her.

"You sure she's up for this?" Skinner asked.

Frank glanced at her. "Of course. She's the Champion of the Ring after all."

"Ex-Champion you mean," he retorted. "She looks like she is going to piss herself."

A dark look flashed across Frank's face as he glared at her. She quickly closed her gapping mouth. "Winner takes all?" Frank asked.

"Yes," Skinner replied easily.

"Where did you get these biotics? I'd think the Dowager would have snapped them up by now."

"We have a new formula provided to us. It enhances normies with some semblance of biotics. Today's a trial run against a real freak," Skinner looked at Nike then at Frank. "No holds barred, am I right? Don't blame me if you lose your pet freak."

Nike stiffened. _What the fuck is this? A death match against five?_

"Likewise, Skinner," Frank replied.

Frank jerked his head towards a bench against one of the few remaining standing walls. She dropped the bag with a thunk. "What the hell Frank?"

He rested his hands on her shoulders. It felt more like a threat than an assurance. "Win this, maybe we can see about you not needing any Red Sand."

She frowned and gazed into his grey eyes. They were flat and opaque. It was hard to tell if Frank meant it, but what choice did she have? Her jaw set and she nodded.

Nike stripped down to her usual fight attire, compression shorts and sports bra. The atmosphere grew charged. The Screamers' gaze sharpened, tracking her movements like she was prey. Frank pulled two items from his pocket. She knew what they were, but she resolutely kept her back towards him. She didn't want to see. All she felt was the rough shove of Frank's hand, forcing her head down, sweeping her hair out of the way. Then, there was a sharp stab right at her amp. The liquid burnt as it entered.

Nike shuddered and groaned. She stumbled a couple of steps away from him, hand pressed against her amp. _Don't glitch, don't glitch, don't—_

All thoughts fell away.

Explosions rang out inside her head or was it actually happening? Time sped up and slowed down. She blinked. Eyelids opened, then closed. Shutters wiping across her vision. Sound grew warp and echoing, far away and loud. Her clothes were so tight. They wrapped around her breasts, pressing them against her chest. The compression shorts chaffed against her thighs. She longed to adjust them. What was worse were the smells. Cigarettes so pungent it was like they were shoved into her nostrils while they were still lit. Alcohol, sweat, blood and the overwhelmingly unmistakable scent of sex. Spent seed dried and sticky, male musk suffocating and overpowering.

It was all too much. Her senses were overloaded and it was overwhelming her. Waves of sensations swept over her, drowning and choking. She clapped her hands over her ears and bent over.

The jeers came. "Look how the Champion have fallen," they laughed.

 _Fallen, fallen, fallen._

She staggered against the outer rim of the loose circle. Hands shoved her back in. Men with blue coronas advanced.

 _One? Five? Ten?_

Mass effect fields snapped out in a straight line at her.

 _Away, away, away._

Laughter echoed. "Can't hit something that's not still?" This wasn't directed at her. Or was it? It was too much to track.

A voice, a pair of grey eyes glared at her. They swell and grew. Teeth turned fangs, like a dragon threatening to snap her head in half. "Fight! Kill them!"

 _Kill, kill, kill._

She straightened, the effect spoilt by her wavering legs, knees that refused to lock.

 _Kill, kill, kill._

Biotics flared to life without conscious thought. The crowd staggered back as the force swept out. She wasn't even trying.

 _Kill, kill, kill._

Mouth opened, voice cracked like the broken pavements, cracked like the fissures across her heart, as she screamed herself hoarse. The world turned black, white and overwhelmingly red.

 _Kill, kill, kill._

Her arms swung, her teeth snapped, her legs stomped.

 _Kill, kill, kill._

* * *

The scent of burning was overwhelming. Nike coughed, doubling over. She stared at the scene before her dumbfounded.

Children, all of them dressed in the same pyjamas. White t-shirts with a logo on their right breast, paired with black shorts. The logo read "Singapore State Orphanage". They weren't sleepy instead they were panicking, sobbing and crying as they pounded their hands against the wide double doors.

Flames were crackling and creeping, burning and devouring everything in its path from the back of the sleeping quarters. Bed sheets, pillows and books caught ablaze quickly, adding more smoke into the enclosed space. The kids coughed, some clawing at their throats, others hammered at the doors harder.

Nike stood stock still as the kids flowed around her like a rock in the middle of a stream. She could breathe just fine, even when the smell of fire filled her nose. One kid, black hair and small, peeled apart from the pack and started opening the window. Her heart was in her mouth as she watched the kid climbed out.

An explosion rocked the building. Nike winced at the sound while the kids screamed. Their fear was contagious, her heart rate picked up. Her eyes searched for the kid frantically. The kid clung onto the side of the building by her fingertips. Nike glanced past the kid and saw white powder was fluttering down from the outside like snow.

The scene was so familiar, her chest ached. Nike rubbed her hand over her forehead. A tight band was forming over her temples, squeezing like a vice threatening to break her skull.

A scream rippled through the air, followed by a thud. It echoed inside Nike's head. She stiffened and rushed to the window. It wasn't the first kid. That kid had made it to the other side.

"What's happening?" As soon as the words left her mouth, the scene shifted and changed. Nike was yanked through space and time. It felt like a biotic charge but she wasn't in control.

 _Is it the Red Sand? Is it the stupid special formula from the creepy ass dude?_

The world resolved around her. The kid, the one who was the first who made it out was stretched out. Her hand tightened around a boy's and his in turn was reaching out towards another girl. The girl had fallen through a hole in the stairs. Cries and screams weren't going to solve this problem but the kids tried anyway.

Nike stared at the black hair kid and stiffened. Green eyes stared back at her. They were so familiar, like they were hers.

 _This is no dream, this is memory._

A scream ripped her attention back to what was happening. The girl had fallen through and the boy was about to follow. The kid, no _she_ , pulled him back. They turned their backs on their fallen friend and sought another way out of the burning inferno.

The scene shifted. Her guts lurched with it.

The kid, she, was urging the boy on. They were attempting to cross a chasm bridged only by a single plank towards safety. The boy's hair was originally so blonde it looked white, now soot-tarred and ashen.

Tears streaked down his face, washing black tracks down his skin. The kid, she, insisted, hand tugging and cajoling. Nike heard herself coaxing, "Thomas, Thomas."

That was the boy's name. She remembered now. She watched, heart in her mouth, guts clenching at what was to come. The plank would break. She would fall. It hurt, the pain flashed across her legs like it was happening now.

Shuffling of feet, hisses of pain as skin connected with the heated wood beam. A cry and then she was gone.

"No!" Thomas cried. "No! Why did you leave me?"

Nike held her breath, expecting to the scene to change again, but it held. In all her nightmares, she had never seen what happened after she fell. She was never present for this.

Thomas stared at the beam with tears and snot streaming down. He wiped them off with the back of his hand. It didn't matter if it left a smear across his face. He stared at the beam, determination flagging. The longer he looked, the more he hesitated, the hotter the fire burnt.

Thomas shouted and Nike flinched. He ran across the beam. She knew it was wrong from the first step. _But he didn't fall, I would have found him if he did._

Tipped off balanced by his ill-advised headlong charge, he made it half way over through sheer luck. He threw his hands outwards and fell hard against the far platform, she could see his chest scraped against the burnt edge. He screamed, the platform was splintered and still ablaze with fire. Teeth gritted, he pulled himself back up to safety.

His chest had a burn wound. It was a red raw line running diagonally across his chest and up his left shoulder. Thomas whimpered and sobbed but he carried on.

Nike stood stock still as the home was burning down around her ears. Fear gripped her. The scene never changed. She peered down the chasm. She saw herself lying among the debris, flames encroaching towards her.

 _Am I stuck here because I'm still here? What if this is forever?_

* * *

 **Boom!**

Nike snapped back to herself instantly. The sound pierced her ears. Reality was a bat to her head. She blinked, legs shaky, but she was still standing.

 _What happened?_

Before she could gather herself another boom rang out. She whirled. Frank had the shotgun in his hands as he fired shot after shot at the Screamers. They, like their name, screamed. It was a blood bath. The shotgun didn't just fire pallets at high speed punching through skin and flesh. It obliterated bodies. What was left wasn't just damaged, it looked more like a sponge than human remains. Nobody could survive a shot from it. Spectre-grade indeed.

Nike couldn't afford to be distracted. All warning she had was a scruff of shoe against gravel. She reacted. Hands thrown out and her biotics followed. The Screamer flew off her feet, but she didn't stop. The roof had no walls. The Screamer didn't stop screaming until her body met concrete ten metres down.

 _What the fuck was going on?_

There was no time to hesitate. The Screamers came and came. Nike flung her biotics at them. Her amp vibrated against her neck, it was warm but it didn't burnt her skin like how it used to. Power flowed like water through her. It was a dam filled to the brim. Holding back the power was harder and more painful than to simply use it, waste it. And so that's what Nike did.

Bodies flew off the building. It didn't matter if they dug down with their fingers and shoes against the gravel. They were no match for her biotics slamming into their faces. She stood bold and proud out of cover. One of her punches could shatter bone. With a gesture, she could press a body against the ground and liquified it through sheer pressure. Bullets stopped in their tracks when they met her barrier.

 _Kill, kill, kill._

She was invincible.

"Nike!"

She spun on her heels, hands raised in preparation to send another person their death, but she found the black matte muzzle of the Spectre-grade shotgun staring at her. She stiffened. The barrier she erected flickered and spluttered. She frowned. Her hands trembled and her legs buckled. She fell onto her hands and knees.

 _What's happening?_

Her biotics winked out, like a switch was flipped. It was a sensation altogether foreign and frightening. Nike was never without her biotics, not since she discovered them, never. It felt like she was violated in a way deeper than skin and flesh, deeper than physical. She realised her heart was racing, her lungs screaming for air as she bent forward to breath.

Frank was grinning, the shotgun propped against the floor. "We did it, Nike," he laughed. The grin across his face threatened to tear at the seams. "You were glorious!"

It was then the scent of iron hit. Lifting her head took everything she had, but she managed it. Blood smears everywhere, bone fragments and pulverised offal were spread out in a circle around her. Those she didn't throw off the roof, she smashed. She was covered in blood. Her gorge rose as she clenched her fists. The faint echoes of Frank's instruction to kill lingered at the back of her mind.

 _This is not me._

"I was right to give you a double dose, you performed well Nike," Frank said, panting as he approached. He was likewise coating in blood. His from the shotgun blasting away at the Screamers. "I'm pleased."

 _Maybe no more Red Sand. No more…_

Nike's knees went out like someone had taken a stick to them, she slammed onto the hard concrete. Muscles shaking, she squeezed her eyes shut to get a grip on her body. Her tongue ran over her lips. They were dry, her throat felt stuck together. Frank walked over, shotgun dragged behind him. Nike fought to sit up, wary of the shotgun so near her. Jitters ran through her and her elbow buckled. Her chin smashed against the floor, and she rolled onto her side. Her breath displaced the dust in puffs. As darkness crept into her vision, she heard multiple footsteps approaching.

"Boss, we've got it done," it sounded like Scars. "We've mopped everyone up."

"Good, remember this is but the first step. The bloodier the better," Frank replied.

"One of the others was almost fucking brained by one of the falling bodies," Cutter said.

"That's all Nike."

"What's wrong with her?" Cutter asked, his voice closer now.

Hands flipped her on her back. Her vision too dark, too blurry to make out anything beyond a vague shape.

"Kid!" Cutter shouted. "Get one of the others to help you. Get Nike back to base."

Smaller hands joined the larger ones. They tugged, they lifted, they took her weight. Her knees refused to lock, her neck couldn't support her head. She groaned as the motions made her body ached. Jitters rocking her core.

"What's wrong?" Alex's higher pitched voice asked. "Nike!"

Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to work out the words.

"Ahh, one of Nike's strays huh. I gave her a double dose, I think she is expanded a little too much biotics," Frank laughed.

Cutter ran a hand over her forehead, brushing the hair aside. "Kid, get her back to base. Energy drink, the sweeter the better. Make sure she drinks and eats. Got it?"

"Like the last time, got it," Alex replied, her voice shook.

"Kid, look after Nike well," Frank called after them. "You and that runt remained at the Reds at my pleasure."

Nike could feel Alex's grip tightened around her arm as she was half dragged, half carried away.


	24. Red Tinged Victory

Chapter 24 - Red Tinged Victory

Nike's eyes snapped open, body stiffened and surging up. Arms raised and biotics flaring as she searched for enemies. The echo of a scream ringing in her ears, the after image of Thomas with the scar across his chest throbbing behind her eyelids.

"Nike?" A thin, scared voice called out. "What are you doing? Why are you doing this?"

She opened her eyes, and blue filled them. Tiny was snared in a cloud of biotics, floating a metre off the ground, his eyes wide and terrified. Her mind flashed back to the last time she saw this exact look on his face. She had just found the Strays' home, and she was threatening to murder him.

She flinched and pulled her biotics back. Arms wide open and she caught him as he fell. She grunted at the sudden weight, body sore and aching.

"Sorry, Tiny. I…" she grimaced, unable to explain her lost of control.

"You were scared. I know, don't worry about it," Tiny said. "You were having a nightmare."

Understanding where none was deserved, she scrubbed her hands over her face. However, she couldn't help but noticed how quickly he distanced himself from her. She sighed and clenched her fists. There was nobody she could blame but the Red Sand.

"Alex told me to make sure you eat," Tiny went on, scurrying to the door, putting his hand on the knob.

"The Firecracker said that, huh?" She rose and proceeded to strip out of the bloodied fight clothes she still had on.

"Yeah, boss says we have to take good care of his investment. Otherwise…" his voice trailed off.

She turned back after pulling on fresh clothes. "Otherwise, you will be out on the streets?" she completed.

Tiny shook his head. "He'll sell us to the Snatchers."

Her eyes hardened, and the boy flinched. _Get a fucking grip._ She forced a cheery smile that she didn't feel on her face. "Come on," a hand on Tiny's shoulder, realising it felt thinner and bonier than before. "Let's go get some food."

The rest of the day went by in a mess of aching muscles and flashes of the past flickering in her head. Tiny kept close, hovering like a mother hen would albeit a fearful one. "Where's Alex?" she asked once food and shower were squared away.

"Running errands for Tenner and the boss."

She hummed. That meant Alex was as safe as she could be for now. Being useful was a sure way to secure one's place in the Reds after all.

"What's the word on the street?"

Tiny cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"The Screamers, you've heard haven't you?"

He shook his head. Nike blinked. Frank was keeping everything hush-hush. The back of her mind itched. He was up to something but she couldn't quite see the entire picture. It felt almost reminiscent of the Reds' initial rise.

* * *

Nike jerked awake. She had dozed off in the sun. All that was left of the cigarette she was smoking reduced to ashes in her fingers. It was a wonder she didn't burn herself. That situation was quickly rectified with a fresh stick pressed between her lips. A quick flick of her lighter, the stick caught alight. She inhaled, the soothing taste of tobacco and nicotine tasted sweet to her tongue. Tiny was gone, probably bored out of his mind watching her sleep. The others were content to let her have the day off. After the previous day, she rather thought she deserved, if not actually needed, it. Her body ached like her muscles were taxed to the extreme, but it concentrated most especially around her amp. The soreness was mostly bearable. What worried her most was the slight tremble in her hands and the odd gnawing at her guts that no food seemed to fill.

 _I'm not craving for Red Sand. I'm not. I'm not._

There was only one other person in the Reds who had a hit of that specially formulated Red Sand, but would she get a straight answer from him?

 _I have no choice but to try._

Nike dusted off her shorts and went in search of Krycek.

She found him where he always was, slinging biotics against one of the abandoned blocks at the back of the base. An intense blue corona engulfed him as an uncontrolled detonation churned up debris and dust. She could barely hear her cycling thoughts through the noise.

Perched on a larger piece of broken off concrete, she watched. Sweat made his bare skin gleam in the sunlight. Her eyes took in his form. Scars both old and new littered his back. His left arm could never quite straighten all the way. That one was her doing. She broke it after they crashed into the ring's barrier. Her lips curled with satisfaction. Maybe that was what sealed his fate with the Dowager's crew, maybe that was why he was always so fucking sour around her. Either way, she figured they were more than even now.

"Hey asshole," Nike shouted.

Krycek ignored her. He took his time lifting broken pieces of bricks and sending them smashing into the much abused wall. The barrage was ear-splittingly loud.

Nike watched. As a fellow biotic, she could admire the sheer power he had, no doubt fuelled by Red Sand, but power was power. Regardless, it was galling to be ignored.

"Asshole!" she shouted, rising to her feet. Her biotics flashed and pulled on the same bricks he was held in his field.

It was an odd sensation. Flutters of electricity pricked against her mind, under her scalp, an itch she couldn't get it. It quickly grew rough and angry, turning more painful than curious. She could feel a vague shape that jolted and jabbed, seeking an opening, but she held firm. She grunted and visualised a stronghold, immovable and secure. Teeth bared, she watched the bricks come to a standstill, trapped between two opposing forces, hanging still in the air, vibrating minutely.

Nike grinned. Krycek's face was twisted in a snarl. Then, the bricks imploded from the pressure. Both of them exhaled as the tension snapped out. He turned, anger colouring his eyes. "What the fuck!"

She stiffened, eyes trained on the scar across his chest. The scar that that looked like a burn mark, running up towards his left shoulder. She sucked in a breath through her teeth as her eyes widened. "It's you."

Krycek frowned, confused at the turn of events. Nike surged forward, hands shoving against his chest. "It's fucking you! You were at the orphanage, you were there with me! You know my name!"

Realisation was a bolt that shot through him. His anger turned to bitter mirth. He laughed, it was vicious and hostile. "You remember now, don't you? I told you Red Sand would do the trick."

"You knew and you couldn't have just told me?"

"Where would the fun be in that?"

Nike pulled at her core, this time with deadly intent. Krycek's gaze sharpened. The air between them sizzled and shimmered like a heat mirage.

"Krycek," a voice called out. Nike jerked her eyes over and found Tiny looking at them. The kid flinched.

"What is it, kid?" Krycek growled. "I'm a little busy."

Nike gritted her teeth, hoping Tiny would just go. She didn't want him to get involve in this.

"Frank's looking for you. He say something about a private fight," Tiny went on, shrinking further back into himself. "He wants you now."

Krycek's gaze met hers. There was an understanding that passed between them in that single look. Nike inhaled and forced her biotics away. He did the same. This wasn't a truce, it was merely a timeout. "Take me to Frank," he said, placing his hand on Tiny's shoulders deliberately. "Let's go, kid."

He chuckled, making sure she had a good view as they left. Her worry over her trembling hands forgotten. Fresh new questions buzzed in her head, chasing their own tails, finding no answers and even less peace. She growled low in her throat. It was a scream of frustration held in, the pressure threatened to spill over in a biotic flare.

"I'll fucking kill Krycek, Thomas, whatever the fuck his name is."

* * *

"Nike," Scars called.

She looked up from her position on the floor. She ended up sitting in the middle of the rubble Krycek had made, waiting for his return but not really expecting it.

"What the fuck do you want?" she glared at him.

He stiffened for a second but reached into his pocket and pulled that hateful vial out. "Fight day, Champion."

She couldn't help but grimaced at the sight of it. Scars sniggered. "Not so great anymore are you? Maybe if you begged I'll skip dosing you."

Nike rose to her feet. Scars, despite being taller and having filled out since they first met, took a couple of steps back. He maintained an arm's distance between them. _Like it's going to help._

"Let's go," she tossed over her shoulder, shoving her trembling hands into her pocket as she walked away.

The Underbelly was filled with eyes. Eyes that stared, curiously, angrily and admiringly. Nike felt it all even through the obscuring hood over her head. Her skin prickled with rage from some of those eyes. A good chunk of the crowd had lost credits on her last fight. She was after all always a good bet to make credits on.

The crowd grew thick and the murmurs loud. Nike stopped. The way was barred. Scars shouted, "Get the fuck out of the way!"

The crowd pressed closer. "Give me back my credits! You're supposed to win! You must have been bribed to lose!"

Scars took a step back and bumped into Nike. She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him aside. Head lifted, the hood fell back, her red hair on full display. She glared at them. The crowd's complaints subsided into faint mutterings.

"Get out of the way!" Scars shouted from behind her as he tried to shove his way through. He was met with a wall of flesh that shoved him right back. Stumbling he fell onto his butt, his hand went for his pistol. The crowd bristled like a single organism threatened, weapons were being drawn.

Nike sighed, already tired. "I'm just fucking here to fight," she muttered under her breath. All it took was a flare, all lights and no real power. The crowd flinched as one. "Anyone wants one of these," she asked almost lazily, raising a hand sheathed in biotics above her head.

That was all it took. The crowd parted reluctantly, but she didn't need them to be happy about it.

They were late reaching the prep room. Usually Nike had at least a good 30 minutes or so sitting by herself, getting into the head space. The Thomas revelation had messed with her harder than she would admit. Her hands still shook in her pockets. With every step Scars took, the vial clinked against the syringe. The dread returned in full force.

Nike stripped down. The wound had mostly healed, now a shiny red line across her mid-section. There was nothing more to hide. The only real hole resided in the landscape of her heart and nobody needed to know about that one.

"Time for your dose," Scars said in a sing-song voice, the vial and syringe in his hand.

Her brow furrowed but she quickly smoothed away. "Doesn't take much for your pride to recover huh? After that fucking humiliating spill," she snorted.

Scars snarled, quickly filling the syringe. He advanced with it leading the way. "You're not touching me," she snapped. "Give it to me."

"No, Frank—."

"Oh fucking boohoo, Scars. Go run and tell Frank, see if I care. He's not here, you are. What does it matter if I win?"

Scars licked his lips, he stared at her chest openly. One hand holding onto the syringe, the other tugging at his crotch. Again with his horny little boy shit, Nike's temper snapped.

"Don't make me take it from you," she warned, one fist broke out in blue flames. Her eyes flicked between his crotch and his face. "I can take both your balls, you don't need them anyway."

Scars' face darkened, but he placed the syringe onto the bench and slid it over. "I'm watching you do this."

 _Fuck._

Nike had hoped to intimidate the fuck out of Scars and skip the fucking Red Sand. It was a long shot. She snatched the syringe up. Eyeing it, she squirted half out at Scars. He flinched back almost as if the content was poison. _Well, it is poison._ His mouth opened, words on his tongue before clamping shut when she gestured threateningly with the syringe.

Nike deliberately took the time to pull her hair into a short stubby ponytail. It was part ritual getting ready for the fight, part delay from the distasteful task. Her breath quickened as she picked the syringe up again, her hand shook. Scars grinned but her focus was only on the needle wavering in her vision. Fingers reaching back, finding the ragged scar at the back of her neck, finding the bump where her amp lay under her skin. She inhaled, sharp and fast as the needle entered skin. She depressed the plunger.

A red haze took over her. The syringe clattered to the floor. She blinked rapidly, her vision sharpening. Everything was so clear, so detailed. Shutting her eyes, her ears picked up Scars' breathing. It was quick and shallow, verging on panic. The constant buzz of biotics under her skin turned tingly like ants were trying to crawl through.

It was too much.

When her eyes snapped open again, Scars staggered a couple of steps back. Fear, real fear, coloured his eyes. She snorted, lips curling into a smile wider than normal.

"What are you waiting for, Scars?" she chuckled. "We have a fight to win."

Nike straightened, her hands had stopped shaking as she strode out. Biotics danced along her skin. She felt good. She felt invincible. The rational part of her mind was screaming but she didn't care.

* * *

Nike danced. It wasn't like the first time on Red Sand where everything was too loud, too near, too in her face. Today she was the feather that floated on the wind. Everything was effortless. A swing of her arm and the biotic force swept out sending her opponent slamming against the cage. The barrier shimmered and buzzed from the impact.

Even the crowd felt it. Surprised gasps were all quickly silenced. She stood boldly with her arms on her hips, back to her opponent. She laughed. It rang loud in the ring. "I'm the fucking Champion, remember that!"

Something slammed into her back, she stumbled forward. Whirling around, she bared her teeth at her opponent. "That's all you got?"

Nike had never met any biotic that, hadn't starved and begged for food or shelter. She had faced them all in the ring. They were products of their dog eat dog world. Outside the ring, one could run. Inside, surrender was a quick way out of the gang and back onto the streets.

Her opponent's only response was another quick shot of biotic energy flung in her direction. Nike raised an arm, a blue barrier shimmered to life. A loud snap and her barrier fell but it did its job.

"My turn," she smiled, teeth bared.

Nike braced herself, knees bent, shoulders set. All it took was mere thought. The cage blurred as the world re-arranged itself around her. One moment she was at one end of the cage, the next she was hurtling through time and space. Her fist leading the way as she slammed into her opponent.

The crowd roared and cheered as she stood. The skull of her opponent cracked and broken, spilling lifeblood onto the ring. At the back of her mind, she knew she should be worried, she should be afraid, but these gnat-like thoughts were silenced in the rush of adorations from the crowd.

"Nike! Champion! Nike!"

* * *

Nike's mouth was dry. Her tongue was sandpaper scrapping against the inside of her mouth. No amount of energy drinks she poured into her mouth helped. She needed more. There was more back at the base so she trudged out of the Underbelly. The bass pulsed against her temples as a band of tightness squeezed her skull.

Spilled blood, broken skull, dead biotic opponent. Nike grunted and scrubbed her face. The image faded quickly. The crowd was pleased by the blood she provided. Her opponent's gang not so much. A biotic wasn't something easily replaced.

 _All the more reason to fucking hustle._

Her hands refused to stop shaking. It was all the more fucking irritating when she tried to get the straw to her mouth and keep it there. Angrily she tossed the empty bottle and shoved her hands into her pockets and kept walking. "At least this time I don't need one of the others dragging me back," she muttered under her breath.

Scars hadn't waited around. He claimed the winnings and was gone. As much as she wanted to think Red Sand wasn't affecting her, there was a bone deep weariness hanging on her shoulders like an anchor she was dragging around. "I just need rest and more food. That's all," she said. The words were smoke, disappearing into the dark night like her convictions. "It's just the come down. I'm not addicted, I'm fine."

The hair at the back of her neck rose. She couldn't help but glance around. Everything was quiet. There wasn't anyone loitering around, no Nightwalkers, no kids, nobody. It was too fucking quiet. Her back was cold without Burger watching it. She quickened her pace, ignoring the aches and pain, hand gripping her pistol tight.

The base was just around the corner and straight ahead. The lights would be killed by this time. There was no point in advertising the Reds' headquarters to everyone.

 _Come on, it's not far. Maybe I can try a little jog._

The scrap of shoes against concrete decided it for her. It didn't matter how tired she felt, she was not going to take on the whole fucking gang on her own. It seemed there was nothing she could get right. Not since making that stupid decision to kill Hickory, Dickory and Dock, not since Burger, Ross and Emma. Her hands shook harder as frustration boiled to the surface. Nike channeled it to her legs, picking up into a slow jog and then a run.

As soon as she started running she could hear shouts behind her. "She's getting away!"

Nike glanced behind her. She was expecting the Wraiths hot on her heels. She had just killed their biotic in a most spectacular fashion. However instead of the hollow-eyed skull marking them Wraiths, she spotted the grinning masks of the Screamers. Her memory of that day was fuzzy at best, but one thing was for sure, she was not sticking around to figure out what was up.

Raising the pistol above her head, she fired. That should get the lookouts at the gate to rouse the others. She whipped around and levelled the pistol at the Screamers. Eyes counting those she could see in the dim light. "Get away if you don't want to join the rest of your people."

There was no reply other than a shot fired in her direction. Nike ducked, a paper thin barrier shot up reflexively. Torn between fleeing and fighting, she heard gunfire erupting behind her.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she shouted.

* * *

It was a blur as the Reds clashed with the Screamers. The Screamers would lose. They were foolhardy to try and attack so close to base. Nike's pistol ran out quickly. She resorted to her biotics, flinging them without care as her amp seared her skin.

 _Don't glitch, don't glitch._

The litany ran non-stop in her head even as she defended and maimed with equal measure. Her blade tight in her hand as she darted in to slash as a stray arm. She was rewarded a yelp. Teeth gritted, she swung a biotic powered fist into another's face. Bone crumpled under her knuckles. Feet shuffled to duck under a wild fist. Breathing was getting hard as her vision swarm.

A high pitched battle cry caught her attention, she swung around, blade first only to pull up short. It was Alex, rushing in with a blade in her hand.

"What the fuck?" Nike cried. "Who the hell allowed you here?"

Alex ignored her and rammed her blade into a Screamer's gut. She grinned at her success, but where one fell, there was always another to take their place. Fear sunk into Alex's face, her eyes widened, her nostrils flared. A pistol lifted, muzzle aimed right at Alex. Nike acted. She charged without care who or what she barrelled into. The bullet went wide as she slammed into the Screamer. Nike finished them with a quick upward angled stab of her blade into their chest. They shuddered, and she left them gasping for air that wouldn't come.

A scream yanked her attention back to Alex. Her arm was bleeding, a long slice running down her forearm. A Screamer loomed over her. Nike was too far to do anything. Her biotics spluttered and died. "Alex! Stab the asshole!" she shouted as she forced her legs to move. All other thoughts ceased.

It was the jolt Alex needed. She yelled a wordless cry and swung. The Screamer flinched back, taking Alex for an easy target, but the kid was nimble and fast. The blade found home just Nike drove her fist into the Screamer's gut on the other side. The Screamer crumpled.

Nike scooped Alex up and unleashed a flare. The force swept everyone around her off their feet. It didn't matter if they were friend or foe. "What are you doing?" Alex screamed. "Put me down! The fight is not done."

"You're done," she retorted. "What the fuck do you think you're doing rushing in like this? What the hell is Tiny? Did he join too?"

Alex struggled, "Do you think I'm stupid? No!"

Nike couldn't help but glance at the battlefield she was leaving. She prayed Tiny had listened and not joined the fray. Neither of them were trained, Alex had the ferocity to go with her personality but Tiny didn't. Fear ebbed and flowed in waves. She had tightened her hands unconsciously. Alex hissed in pain through clenched teeth, "What the fuck?"

"Damn it," she cursed under her breath and relaxed her grip. She had been holding onto Alex's wound. "You got to get this cut tended to now."

Alex unleashed a string of vulgarities that showed plainly how she felt, but Nike wasn't about to let the girl go despite feeling ready to collapse at any moment.

The fight was dyin. The Screamers were mostly decimated. Their foolish attack had saved Frank the trouble hunting them down one by one across the Slums. It seemed whatever plans Frank had put into motion, it involved these private fights turned massacre. As yet, the news was contained, but it wouldn't be for long. Nike couldn't be bothered, her heart was stuttering in her chest at the sight of the cut on Alex's arm. _I can't fail again, not Alex, not Tiny._

By the time Nike dragged Alex back to base, she wasn't struggling any more but just being stubborn. Running the wound under water, she realised it didn't look at bad as it seemed at first. Alex asked, when she got out the suture kit, "Do you think it will scar?" Excitement colouring her voice.

Nike clenched her fists, they couldn't stop shaking. Alex looked at her. She realised she hadn't answered. "Yeah, I think it will."

Tiny spotted them and came over. "Alex, you got hurt!"

"I'll get a cool scar too!" Alex's eyes shone with pride. "Just like Nike."

Nike's brow furrowed. When did that happened? When did she turned into someone to aspire towards? "Scars are not a thing you should want," she replied gruffly. Threading the needle was impossible, not with her hands, not with her pounding head. Tiny snatched the needle and thread from her hands and threaded them easily, instead of taking it from him, she called out, "Cutter!"

Cutter lumbered over, a self-satisfied grin plastered across his face. "A good fight! What's up?"

Nike gestured towards Alex, and Cutter frowned. "Firecracker, what the hell did I teach you? You're supposed to duck, not get cut."

"But I'll get a cool scar!" Alex bounced happily.

Cutter sighed and placed a hand on Nike's shoulder. His eyes met hers. His mouth grew pinched as he took in her blood stained clothes, her inability to stand properly without bracing against something else. "Go take care of yourself. I'll handle this."

Shame burnt her face, but she was in no shape to help anyone else, not as fucked up as she was. "Thanks, Cutter," she muttered, turning to go.

Judging by the excited rise and fall of Alex's voice and Tiny's accompanying laugh through the opened door of her room, an embellished account of the battle was being told, possibly reenacted. She scrubbed her hands over her face, angry that they shook and were still shaking.

Nike never felt more like a failure.


	25. Thomas Krycek

Chapter 25 - Thomas Krycek

Nike eyed the comings and goings. A cigarette in her finger, smoke trailing from her mouth. Something was up. Everyone could feel it, from the lowliest of the lows to the inner circle. But Nike wasn't in the know. Neither were Cutter or Scars. Frank was either holed up with Tenner running numbers or out with either herself or Krycek. She grimaced, burning her lips on the short stub of a cig. Her hands shook as she fished for a fresh stick.

What was the purpose of these fights? Gangs were one by one being decimated and reduced. Word had spread. The Reds were expanding, again. The Dowager allowed Frank no new members, but her reach was dimnishing as the raids continued. It wasn't private fights any longer but outright raids in broad daylight. With that came more ambushes, it was no longer safe to walk the streets as a Red. Meg's cinema wasn't healthy to visit any longer, not unless you want to return to base with a stab wound.

Between the fights at the Underbelly and the raids Frank conducted, Nike spent days in a Red Sand induced haze. Coming off one to start another right after. She swung between two states like a pendulum: fully energised, eyes keen, unable to be still or complete exhaustion, hands shaking like an addict.

 _Like an addict._ The thought ground on well worn grooves in her mind.

Her glitches were thankfully accepted as Red Sand crashes. Nike was in no condition to hide them any longer. After every battle, Nike would walk under her own power, if she was able, back to base only to collapse into bed. Alex and Tiny knew what they needed to do, alternatingly coaxing energy drinks into her, placing wet towels over her overheating amp. Vaguely, she wondered if Krycek was suffering similarly or not.

* * *

Nike tried to peel her eyes open, but they were glued shut by dried tears. She groaned, throwing the now dry towel onto the floor and rolled onto her back. Hands rubbing at her eyes, she blinked to clear her vision. Her yellowing and cracked ceiling came into focus. Muscles so sore, that they throbbed in time to her pulse.

The door creaked open. Light footsteps shuffled into the room. She sighed but kept her eyes on the ceiling. "What is it? Another raid later?" she asked, her voice raspy and hoarse, her throat raw.

 _Have I been screaming all day yesterday?_ She couldn't remember. Echoes of cries and gunfire rang out in her head, flashes of red and black flickered in her mind's eye, the scent of iron and sick filled her nose, but when she grasped for it, the sensations slipped through her fingers like hopes and wishes. They weren't things for her.

"No raids," Tiny replied.

"A fight?"

"Nope," he popped the P.

"Nothing?" she levered herself up onto her elbows.

"Scars didn't say there was one," he replied, shoving the energy drink packet into her face.

Nike grimaced. It seemed it was all she was subsisting on these days, energy drink and ration bars. Her stomach churned at the sight of it, but she reached for it anyway, glaring at her shaking hands. _I'll be better once I've eaten._

Tiny hurried her to the showers, making impatient noises and complaining that she stank. Nike sniffed at herself and agreed. Between all the blood, both hers and her enemies, and sweat from all her exertions, she smell more like something the dog dragged in. The Burger shaped hole was still there, but the ache in her chest had lessened. Maybe she was numbed by Red Sand, maybe it was time that did the trick. But she felt guilty for not thinking about Burger or the others as often. _I must keep them alive in me. That's the only way I won't make the same mistakes again._

"Shower!" Tiny insisted.

Nike sighed and handed the empty pack to him. "Where's the Firecracker?"

He shrugged. "Frank got her running some errands."

"Heard anything about all these raids? What is the street saying?"

"It's dangerous out there now wearing Reds' colours."

She nodded. Tiny crushed the empty pack in his hands. "Word came in via messenger last night. It's from the Dowager."

One brow rose.

"Sounds like she is summoning Frank to the Underbelly."

"When?"

"I don't know," he hissed. "I wasn't supposed to be listening in."

"Hey, hey, you did good. If you hear anything, let me know. Frank is planning something, and it's fucking dangerous. These raids are not the end of it. I think he is gunning for the Dowager."

Tiny frowned at her. "Shower! Now!"

Nike chuckled and rose to her feet, bracing against the wall as her legs protested. _I'll feel better after a shower._

* * *

Music played softly from her omni-tool, echoing across the space. Water sluiced down her back. It followed the grooves and furrows of weary muscles, finding every single open cut along the way. The water was ice cold, and it wasn't helping loosening up the stiffness across her shoulders. Nike bent over, hissing at the pull of her back. Her hand found the bar of soap. She worked it up into a lather and ran it all over her hair and body. Her hands shook, and the soap slipped from her grip.

"Fuck."

Eyes opening only to feel a sharp stab of pain pierced her eyes when soap got into them. All she could managed was a wordless cry of frustration as she lifted her face towards the shower head. Cold water poured down. It was a vain attempt to wash out the soap and drown the anger directed at herself. It only did one of those things well. Her hands sought out the shower knob a couple of times before her fingers could grip it. They shook too damn much. Every slip just made her angrier. Rivulets of water trickled her skin, down her spine, between her breasts, dripping off the thatch of black hair between her legs.

There was a gnawing in her stomach that no amount of energy drinks or rations bars could quench. She knew what it was, but she didn't want to say it outloud. _I'm not addicted, I'm not a Red Sand fiend._ Her thoughts sounded hollow even to her.

Catching sight of herself in a stained mirror, she could see how much she had changed. Her hair was no longer a shiny red. _Must have been from the water. It'll be fine after it's dry._ Her cheeks were craters like someone had reached into her face and pulled all flesh from it, leaving only skin and bone. Dark rings circled her eyes, made all the more stark against her ashen skin. _I'll just have to eat and sleep better. It's the pace of fights that's the problem._ She grimaced, she wouldn't have recognised the face in the mirror if the reflection didn't move when she did.

Sighing, she towelled herself off. Before she could get completely dry, she heard a familiar voice speaking. "Heard they scraped her off the ground yesterday. Frank gave her a double dose again."

 _Scars, fucking Scars. Never knowing when to shut his fucking mouth._ She sighed, ressumed what she was doing. Then, a snort, loud and derisive, echoed against the tiled walls. "You'd never find me that way," another replied. "I'm the better biotic anyway."

She stiffened, her ire rose instantly. _Fucking Krycek…_

"Shame, she's such a bitch. I bet she can do things with those biotics of hers," Scars went on.

A chuckle, this time closer, and a slightly laboured pant. Clothes were shrugged off and feet padded on wet tiles towards her. "You want to her?" Incredulity dripping from every word.

"A pussy is a pussy," Scars pointed out. He rounded the wall that blocked the showers from view from the rest of the base. His head tilted back to look at Krycek who was limping behind him. It was only at Krycek's reaction at the sight of her that Scars realised she was there.

Fear flickered across his eyes. He was probably reminded of the last time he tried to say something of this sort to her. The blue flames that ran up her left arm probably drove the point home. The grin that split his mouth was brittle at best.

Nike's attention however was on Krycek. "Just the asshole I was looking for," she growled, her eyes pinned on fucking Thomas or Krycek, whatever he wanted to go by.

Krycek frowned, his gaunt look matched her own. She recognised Stitches' handiwork across his back and arms. The way he held himself stiffly, it was obvious every step hurt. She knew that pain well.

"Hey Nike, fancy seeing you here," Scars said.

Her eyes darted over to Scars. "I wasn't talking to you."

"You can't offer a man such a tease and say that, Nike girl." Scars approached, one hand rubbing at his crotch.

Her biotics flared brighter. Her eyes flicked over to Scars. Krycek chuckled and leaned against the wall, content to watch this play out. "Scars, I suggest you fuck off now," she growled, low and dangerous.

"That just makes me hotter," he glanced over his shoulder and Krycek lifted a hand, biotics whipped up in a flash. The towel she was holding loosely in front of herself was yanked from her hands before she realised what was happening.

Nike sighed, more annoyed than embarrassed or afraid with having her naked form on display. Scars' grin widened, one hand gripped the towel around his waist tightly, while the other was still busy with his crotch. His eyes bulged so far she feared it was going to get stuck that way. Scars' leering gaze was something she was familiar with. She rested her palms on her hips, uncaring how she was standing naked in front of them. Krycek met her gaze evenly, ignoring all she had on display.

"Scars, I'm not repeating myself."

"Come on, I'll make you see the stars," Scars coaxed, reaching out towards her chest.

Anger flashed right to its boiling point. She reached out and grabbed Scars' arm. He had no chance to pull back or retreat. She twisted and pivoted, flipping Scars over her shoulder. He slammed onto the floor, water splashing up. Air rushed out of his lungs as he groaned. She looked at Krycek, "You're going to help your buddy here?"

"Not my buddy."

"Not? You helped him with my towel," she pointed out.

"Thought it'll be fun."

"Was it?" she spat, her biotics flared. Scars yelped, scrambling back on his butt, losing his towel along the way. "Fuck off Scars," this she growled without looking at him. "My business here is with Krycek."

As Scars took off sans towel, butt naked, it was only then Krycek peeled himself off the wall. His biotics whooshed to life. "Shall we continue our little conversation the last time?"

"Why not?"

A voice rasped from her omni-tool, a song thumped with a solid beat as rapid fire words spewed forth like an assault rifle.

 _I like it when trouble brews, I won't dare change  
I like it when there's turbulence on my airplanes_

She was tied to Krycek in a way she wasn't with anyone else. She couldn't remember anything beyond life on the streets. It was all she knew.

 _I like it when I sense things I can't see yet  
Swimmin' with sharks when they ain't feed yet_

Anything before was shrouded in a mystery of haze and half formed nightmares. How much of her Red Sand fuelled memories could she trust?

 _'Cause I like high chances that I might lose  
I like it all on the edge just like you, ayy_

There was much she was uncertain about but she knew fire, she knew pain, she knew the blonde hair boy, Thomas Krycek, was there. He held the key to memories she had lost.

 _I like tall buildings so I can leap off of 'em  
I go hard wit' it no matter how dark it is_

"What's your beef with me?" Nike asked. "We were in the same fucking home, and somehow now you hate me. Why?"

"Home?" Krycek laughed. The sound tasted bitter. "That was no fucking home, that was a place where unwanted kids were abadoned. What did you think it was? Some happy place you play games all day long? It's a hell hole. We're kept in barracks, forced to listen tyrants masquerading as teachers that kept us trapped there."

Nike frowned. _Was it that bad? Is that why I don't remember? Did I block it all out?_

"You don't believe me," he snorted. "Look at you, you don't remember shit and still you don't believe me."

"I don't care about your hurt feelings. We're obviously done with the place. We're here with the Reds. We survived that place. I'm asking why are you angry with me? What have I done?"

"Other than got me kicked out from the Guardians? Other than fucking up my arm?" he spat, gesturing with his badly healed arm. "I might be a biotic, but the Dowager got loads of other biotics lining up to fight for her. You fucked me over!"

Nike clenched her jaw. "That came with the fucking job! These are risks I take too."

He snorted, the noise short and sharp. "You were the one who ditched me in a burning building. You escaped without me. You left me alone." Each sentence was punctuated with a flare, each larger than the previous. Tiles shattered and the pieces were caught in a field around him.

She blinked. That was it? He was pissed because of that? Her biotics wrapped around her in a barrier. Anger ran straight to her head. Frustration and fear made her lash out. "I fucking fell! I hope you fucking remember that part!" With a jerk of her hand, she sent a lance made of pure biotic will towards Krycek.

He staggered, back slamming against the wall as the lance smashed into his field. His hands went wide, dropping his towel to keep his balance. Blood rushed to his face as he covered his crotch with one hand. Nike laughed, the anger pulsing against her temples. How stupid they must looked, two people facing off in the showers, naked as the day they were born. One of the pipes was busted and water was being sprayed into the air. The sunlight streaming in from the row of tiny half length windows. The light hit the water just right and a rainbow sprang to life between them.

"That's it, we'll settle it now!" Krycek shouted, his face darkening. He launched himself into a charge. Blue engulfed him as he hurtled through space towards her. She gritted her teeth and strengthened her barrier. Her amp flaring to life. Her biotics leapt eagerly into action. As if the back to back fights and raids hadn't fed its hunger, and it was eager for more blood.

As their fields slammed against each other, the prickling at the back of her mind roared, and turning into a vice wrapped over her temples. It squeezed and squeezed, a pressure mounting from within and without. Krycek's teeth were bared, sweat beading across his brow. Nike let a cry of frustration ripped from her throat.

Hands gripped arms, and they wrapped themselves in a wrestling match. Neither was gaining an upper hand in this battle. Fists found flesh, knees found ribs. Their blows hit harder and faster than a regular human's. They were biotics, trained by the streets, honed in the ring. They weren't just dangerous, they were deadly. This was a fight neither was going to just walk away from. Pride was at stake, a connection between them that stretched years tied them together.

With a field of broken tiles as their battlefield, they clashed over and over again. Fists and biotics flung; blood, spit and sweat splattered across the shattered ceremics. Krycek's fist found its home in her stomach. Air rushed out of her lungs as she doubled over. Nike kept a tight grip on her biotics and Pulled on him. He was jerked off balance, head slamming against the floor. Hands reached for his neck as she tried to choke him out but a biotic push forced her off. She rolled to lessen the impact. He rose, bits of tiles stuck to his face, slicing cuts into his skin. Black fury radiated from him. She panted, amp throbbing and searing in turns. Her old concerns of glitching were long abandoned. It was mere minutes since the fight broke out but Nike could feel fatigue weighing down on her limbs. This confrontation might be ill-advised, but she was beyond such concerns.

"The Reds isn't big enough for the both of us," Krycek snapped.

"There is only one Champion here," Nike retorted, "and that's not you."

Perspiration rolled down her body, finding all the cuts she had picked up. Krycek's initial embarrassment of being naked forgotten, he raised his arms and got into a fighting stance. His penis hung limp between his legs, just as her breasts heaved with every breath she took. They were just two people ejected into the streets too young. They were in a head on collision course for a long time; Nike with the fuzzy memories of her early years, Krycek with scars and memories that marked him.

Twin cries from the biotics of the Reds rang out as they charged, all bared teeth and feral fury. Biotics lashed out like whips, they yanked and pushed. Fists flew and grunts of pain were forced through clenched teeth.

"Stop!" Someone was shouting at them. "Krycek! Nike! Fucking stop this now!" A voice roared their names over and over.

Nike couldn't spare the gathering crowd a glance. This was life or death. She had no intention to leave until this was settled one way or another. The voices grew louder, but nobody was foolish enough to come between them.

A loud boom pierced through her haze of anger, as one they jerked their heads towards the source. It was Frank, his Spectre-grade shotgun was pointed up at the ceiling. Smoking wisps floated from the muzzle. It was the opening it seemed he was looking for. Scars tackled Krycek to the ground, Cutter pushed her into the wall. "What the fuck!" she roared, bucking against the weight that kept her face smushed against the wall.

Krycek was putting up a similar struggle on the other side. Scars being lighter than Krycek was having a hard time keeping him down.

"What the hell are you thinking?" Cutter hissed into her ear. "The whole operation is coming to fruition and you're picking a fight with Krycek? Why are you jeopardising everything?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I did no such thing. He started it!"

"Scars says otherwise. You're on the fucking brink here."

"Whose side are you on anyway?" Nike growled, the fight going out of her as Cutter compressed her chest against the wall. She barely had breath to speak.

"Firecracker, get her fucking clothes here."

She couldn't see, but she heard a pair of smaller feet racing away and coming back. Meanwhile, Krycek was roaring in fury. "Hold him down!" Scars shouted. Krycek's voice was getting muffled as more people piled onto him.

"Here!" Alex panted.

There was a ruffle of fabric and then Cutter pushed away from her. Nike could breathe again. "Put some fucking clothes on."

She wrenched the clothes from his grip and roughly pulled them on. Cutter was the only one she trusted not to be constantly undressing her in his mind. He was always respectful, no matter who they were.

"Are you going to be stupid again?" he growled, one hand gripping her shoulder.

"No," she replied sullenly. The crash as adrenaline drained from her limbs was harsh. Her hands trembled uncontrollably and she stuffed them into her pockets.

Alex snorted. 'No' she mouthed mockingly, rolling her eyes at Nike.

Frank fired his shotgun again. The sound was deafening, Nike couldn't help but flinched. "Stop this now!" he roared, this time levelling the shotgun at Krycek.

It took Krycek a second to recognise what was happening and he too gave in. Scars hauled him to his feet. He wasn't given the courtesy of clothes. Frank glared at Krycek. Nike noticed Frank's lingering eyes on Krycek's privates. He cleared his throat and turned his gaze to her.

"I don't care what the fuck is going on between you two. You're both with me or against me," he shouted.

There was only one correct answer. The shotgun's muzzle swung from Krycek to herself and back again. Nike shot Alex a look and she shuffled out of the direct line of fire from the shotgun. Nobody spoke. The splatter as water from hit the tiled floor filled the silence.

"Our accession is at hand, do not fuck it up for us," he warned before stalking off.

Cutter all but dragged her out of the showers. She had no choice in the matter. Hot, sweaty and sticky, she stumbled along behind Cutter, keeping a watchful eye on Krycek as she went. He met her gaze. The look they exchanged only promised violence postponed.

 **Lyrics taken from What's Up Danger by Blackway & Black Caviar**


	26. Best Laid Plans

Chapter 26 - Best Laid Plans

The meeting with the Dowager loomed over them. The Reds was a hive of activity. Everything Nike saw scared her. Crates of equipment were being brought in under the cover of night. Walking around on the streets, marked by Reds' colour was a sure way of getting attacked. Raids had made the remaining groups band together. The Slums was never a safe place to begin with, but Nike knew what to expect. Follow the unspoken rules and one was mostly fine. This was chaos, one that was meticulously planned and carried out. From what she's been observing, Frank was pleased with the results.

"Nike, tomorrow is fight night," Frank said assembling the inner circle in his room.

The others were perched on various furniture or leaning against the crates that cluttered his office. Tenner was glaring at Krycek who had sat on top of the scattering of datapads on his desk. Her lips twisted, noting at the addition to Krycek to these meetings.

"I've proven myself," she declared. "I don't need the Red Sand."

Frank glared at her, grey eyes burning with a fanatical fire. She flinched and Krycek chuckled. "Not for tomorrow. But after? You can go without the Red Sand," he said, the flash of anger pulled back into the depths of Frank's soul.

It was whiplash every time he alternated between the two moods. Nike clenched her jaw. "Promise?"

"Yes, I never break a promise have I, Nike?" his voice dangerously low.

She shook her head, knowing there was no other answer he'd accept. Frank's attention slid from her over to Scars. "Tomorrow I'll go with Nike for the fight. I'll need to answer the Dowager's summons after all," he said.

Scars nodded, his face paler than usual.

"You will handle the others with Cutter. Make sure you have them all in place," he went on, his gaze darting between Cutter and Scars.

"Got it boss," Scars said, his voice pitched high, a fragile grin split his lips. "We'll dine like kings tomorrow."

"Or our heads will roll," Cutter growled, rubbing his hand over his knuckles. The skin was all red and raw.

Nike swallowed. Cutter was worried. It was never a good sign. "So what's happening?"

"You just worry about winning. You'd know what you need to do when the time comes," Frank shot back.

A flush of cold ran down her face. The rest nodded sagely like they knew what was planned. It was only then she realised how much she was a part of the inner circle but yet she remained apart, untrusted in the crucial details. Krycek grinned, eyes dancing with vindictive mirth.

"I want the younger ones to be our eyes, they can go where the others can't," Frank said.

"We have two new ones. Nike," Scars said, pausing for a bit, "recruited them a while back."

Frank nodded. "Yes, the girl and the boy—"

"No," she blurted before she could think better. "Keep them out of this." The dread in the pit of her stomach was churning and roiling, making her sick. All eyes turned to her.

"Why not?" Frank asked. "They are perfect for our purposes."

"They are too young, they will screw up," Nike offered. Even she could hear how weak these excuses were. They were no older than she was when she was first recruited to the Reds. There was such thing as being too young.

"You've been training the girl, Cutter. How's she?"

Cutter shrugged. "Fast learner."

Her guts tightened.

"Then it's settled," Frank said, "Tomorrow is show time. Nike, you're dismissed. I have a couple more plans to run through with the others."

She nodded and turned to leave. Her mind kept conjuring up ways things were going to go wrong. As she crossed the threshold, she heard Frank said, "Scars, I'll need you to go pick up something extra special for me. It will ensure Nike wins tomorrow."

Her blood ran cold. There was never a time she felt she needed to run from the Reds like she did now. Alex and Tiny couldn't get involved with whatever the fuck Frank had planned. She knew a big operation when she saw one. Frank was gunning for the Dowager.

* * *

Crickets and frogs were out in force after the rain. The night air was filled with sounds. Humidity lingered, hot and sticky in the air. Nike was waiting for the base to wind down. Alex and Tiny had monopolised her bed, snoring away. Sleep was far from her mind. She needed counsel, and there was only one place she could get it. Eyes keen, ears pricked up, most of the activities were confined to Frank's office. The leader of the Reds was energised, eager for his plans to be put into motion in less than 24 hours.

She waited. Hands shaking, she reached into her pocket and pulled her pack of cigarettes out and lit a stick. The hot glow from the end of the stick was the only illumination as she watched. One by one the rest turned in for the night. Tomorrow was a big day after all.

One stick, two sticks, three sticks. She burnt through them in quick succession. The calming effect of smoking was lost on her this night. Taking a fresh stick, she fished about her pocket for her lighter. Cool metal seared her hand. She paid it no mind. Stuffing the stick into her mouth, she ran her thumb over the wheel. Her shaking hands, combined with the infernal gnawing at her guts proved to be too much. The lighter fell to the floor. She held her breath, waiting, watching. There was no noise, just the faint snores of people sleeping.

She heaved a silent sigh of relief. The lighter snatched up, and she lit her cig. Taking a deep inhale, she grimaced. She had lit it at the wrong end. "Fuck," she breathed, scrubbing her face. It took the rest of the pack before she felt safe enough. With a fresh pack in her pocket and the gaping maw of hunger for Red Sand in her guts, she left the base.

Insect sounds filled the air as she made her way outside. A couple of look outs were stationed at the gates. A few others were patrolling the perimeter. Everything was fine. Nike zipped up her hoodie, making sure her red hair was hidden. A quick boost by her biotics and she was over the barbed wire fence.

She walked, keeping to the shadows. The Slums was her home, the only one she had ever known. The tension that rode in the air was foreign and unwelcomed. She hated how it made her constantly vigilant and tense. Shoulders riding up to her ears, shaking hands ached at how hard she was gripping her pistol, biotics buzzing ready to lash out in an instant. "Fuck, what the hell is Frank thinking?" she muttered under her breath as she walked.

Being recognisable usually brought more perks than problems. Now, it was downright deadly. What was usually a 15 minutes walk was fast turning into a 30 minutes careful trek across the Slums. It was only at the sight of the familiar door she relaxed a fraction. How different would her life be if she hadn't stopped here.

For a moment, memories of Burger and Meg ran through her mind. The old ache returned before she shoved it away hastily. She stepped up and rapped once on the door. Sucking on her sixth stick, she exhaled. Cigarettes tend to calm her down but this was something beyond what mere nicotine could help her with. _Please open the door, please._ Making herself small, she hunched against the corner and waited. There was no noise, no light, nothing. She kept her eyes on the door, contemplating if she should leave or knock again.

The entire trip was a risk. If she was by herself, she would have just up and left, but this wasn't the situation any longer. She had to look out for Alex and Tiny. They needed to eat, they needed shelter. She couldn't just leave.

A click caught her attention. The door slid back a couple of inches and Meg peered out. As Nike peeled herself off the wall and the pump action of a shotgun rang out. She froze. "Who's there?" Meg growled. "Show yourself! I have a shotgun and I'm not afraid to use it."

The small alley way was lit only by a single street lamp. Its light cast everything in yellow. Insects collected and buzzed around it. The retreat of the rain brought them out in full force.

"It's me," Nike hissed, stepping into the light.

"Fuck, girl, are you trying to scare the shit out of me?" Meg growled, lowering her shotgun. "Where were you? You just disappeared off the face of the Earth."

Nike glanced at the mouth of the alley. "Can we do it inside?"

Meg grimaced and nodded, beckoning at her. Nike stepped in, taking care to remove her shoes and placed them on the designated mat. Inside was a small one room apartment. The bed was shoved right against the wall, a small wall mounted TV hung precariously at one end. The kitchen had space only for a single hob stove and a sink, right next it was a small table fit to sit two people. To complete the cramped space was a door leading to the toilet. The place was cluttered with scraps. Things Nike used to trade Meg for but also there were shelves of media stored in disc form. Many of them were missing their covers, labelled only with a hand written paper shoved in place of proper cover art. Music was playing softly in the background.

Meg gestured towards the table and Nike perched on the stool. "What happened?"

Nike rubbed her face. There was so much to say, too much to cover in the time she had, but once she started speaking it was a deluge. She couldn't stop. Words poured from her mouth as tears streamed down her face. Everything came out like she was purging herself of the poison. The murder of the three boys, the rescue of Ross, the death of Burger and the suicide of Emma. Nike couldn't bring herself to meet Meg's eyes. The older woman was puttering around. Clinks of metal against ceramics and suddenly a mug was shoved in front of her.

"Drink," Meg said, plucking the cigarette from her fingers. She took a puff before snubbing it out.

Nike wrapped her fingers around the hot mug. They shook harder than before, her knuckles whitened.

"I'm scared," she confessed. "I don't know what Frank wants but he's getting Alex and Tiny involved in something they don't understand. And…" She took a shuddering breath. "I don't know if I can protect them. I can't even protect myself."

Her hand want to the back of her neck and rubbed. Eyes trained to her mug like it was all she was allowed to look at. There was a scrape of chair against floor, Meg went behind her and pushed her hand out of the way, brushing her hair back. Meg hissed. Nike could guess the mess that was at the back of her neck. Needle track marks bruising her skin, marking her for the Red Sand fiend she had become. _No… I'm not, I'm not._ Her shaking hands and the gnawing hunger gave lie to her thoughts.

"Fuck Frank, fuck the Reds," Meg growled, rummaging through her tiny fridge.

Nike flinched as an ice pack was pressed against the back of her neck. "Hold it there," Meg instructed as she rounded to the front. Hands cupping Nike's face, they lifted it to meet Meg's eyes. "Listen to me Nike. You're not safe with the Reds. Staying there will not end well for you."

"But—"

"Bring the kids over to the cinema, they can hole up there. They can find work somewhere else. You must leave the Reds too. Maybe you can come work for me or something—"

Nike shook her head, dropping the ice pack to the table. "No, it won't work," she whispered, dropping her head into her hands. "I'll just bring trouble to you. Just like I did with Ross, Emma and Burger. I won't do that. You can't hide me, this is the Slums. Frank is not going to just let me go."

Her breath quickened as she fought against the rising tide of panic. She shook, tremors running through her body as her lungs refused to work. Warm arms wrapped around her, hugging her tight, rubbing her back. It broke the walls she had held up. Nike weeped and sobbed, each one shaking her body harder and harder. She lost herself in Meg's safety as she went through the slow process of shoring up her walls again.

"You can take Alex and Tiny," she whispered. "I can get them away, you can hide them. I'll try to get credits to you. Maybe I can set up a dead drop somewhere in the Underbelly or Midtown. Maybe…" Voice cracked, resolve broken, she bit down on her lower lips as she fought back tears.

The music in the background thumped with solemn piano keys. A voice sang.

 _When the lights go out and  
Leave you standing in the dark_

"Hush, girl," Meg whispered, planting a kiss on her forehead before releasing her.

 _No one ever told you  
This would be so hard_

"We'll do this one step at a time. First get the kids to me, we'll think of something. I promise, I'll keep them safe."

 _I know you think your fire is burning out  
But I still see you shining through_

Nike lifted her head, tears standing in her eyes, blurring her vision.

 _You got it in you_

"Thank you," she sobbed, choking on the lump in her throat. "Thank you."

* * *

Meg leaned against the door, her shotgun propped against her leg. White gathered at her temples, streaking through her hair, her smile tired but determined. "Take care of yourself, Nike," she said. "I expect to see you back here again tonight or tomorrow. Don't make me come and get you."

Nike nodded, her eyes red rimmed and swollen. She felt lighter, the problems didn't feel so big in the grey light of dawn. With Meg's support bolstering her, she didn't feel quite so hopeless. "I will. Thank you, Meg, for everything."

"Go, keep your head down. Do whatever that fucker wants and stay safe."

She offered a wave before taking off down the road. It was a race against the sun, she had to sneak back into the base, avoiding the sentries.

As she neared the base, the sky was lightening at an alarming rate. A quick check to make sure the coast was clear and she leapt over. Knees bent, she landed with practised ease before raising to her feet and jogging into the base proper.

The early rising members of the Reds nodded at her. She ignored them, opting to make a beeline to the supply room. Grabbing several packets of biscuits, she started munching on them, as if she was just having breakfast. Satisfied that her night excursion wasn't discovered, she sauntered back to her room hoping to catch a cat nap before the festivities really began.

Alex looked up the moment she opened the door. The words out of her mouth made Nike's blood ran cold. "Where were you? Frank was looking for you," she said.

Nike's mouth went dry, her brow broke out in cold clammy sweat. She swallowed, trying to work up the words to speak. "When?" was all she managed.

"Hours ago," Alex went on, eyeing her curiously, exchanging glances with Tiny.

"I'll go get Frank," Tiny announced and skipped out of the room.

Nike's heart slammed against her ribs. Time had ran out and she didn't even realised it. Her jaw ached at the intensity she was gritting her teeth. _Get a grip, focus on what you fucking need to do._ With a great breath exhaled, she forced herself to let go of the tension. This wasn't the time to fall apart. She had a mission. Only when the door was firmly shut behind her did she closed the distance between herself and Alex. Sinking onto one knee, she gripped Alex's arms.

"You ok?" Alex asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Frank's plan is going to get you into a shit load of trouble. He is going up against the Dowager. There is no way this is not going to end with a hail of bullets. I can't protect you or Tiny if I'm not with you."

Alex bared her teeth, wrenching her arms out of Nike's grip. "I don't need your protection. I've seen what your protection looked like. I saw the blood, I saw Emma!"

Nike pressed her hand over Alex's mouth, muffling her voice. "Shhh... not so fucking loud. I don't care if you don't like me, or even hate me. One way or another, you're not going to the Underbelly. Take Tiny and get out. Go to Meg's. She will hide you. I will send credits. You will be safer there."

Alex squirmed and bucked, smashing her head against Nike's forehead. "Ok, ok, I'm going to let go, just keep your fucking voice down," she hissed.

Alex glared back angrily. Nike relaxed her grip, and Alex ripped her hands away. The furrow on Alex's brow was so deep it looked it was going to stick around forever. "I'm happy with the Reds. I'm learning so much. Cutter is going to teach me how to shoot. You are not going to take me away from a place I belong now. I'm taking care of Tiny, not you. We don't need you. You only wrecked my life. I was happy with Ross. Now I'm happy with the Reds."

Every word slammed into Nike like a bullet. She knew, she knew she had destroyed everything Alex and Tiny knew like a wrecking ball taken to a building. There was nothing but rubble left of their previous life, but she was trying. Why couldn't Alex see that? Teeth bared, she turned away for a moment, taking deep breaths to calm the rising anger and frustration.

"The Reds isn't as good as you think it is. You're not safe here. You and Tiny are just going to be used against me."

A snort, disbelieving and scoffing, came from Alex. "You think you're still the Champion? No, you've fallen. Krycek is going to beat you soon. You'll see!" Alex shoved Nike hard, snarling her words, wielding them like blades.

Nike took a couple of steps back, rocked to her core. "Fine," she growled, anger getting the better of her. "Fine, if that's what you want, so be it. Tiny is going to get out of here. Don't you dare get him involved in this operation."

"What's that about Tiny?" someone asked behind her.

She whirled around to see Frank at her door, Tiny was peeking around his body to look in. "Where were you Nike? I was looking for you earlier," his voice was even where his questions were anything but. Each one was pointed, needle sharp. "You weren't in your room. Hell, you're not even on base."

Without warning, Frank reached behind him and dragged Tiny to stand between them. Tiny's eyes were wide with fear. "Do you want to tell me Nike? Or will I have get that answer out of your strays?"

"Leave him alone," Alex yelled, rushing forward only to be blocked by Nike's outstretched arm. Baleful eyes glared up at Nike only to flinch back when she saw the intensity of Nike's gaze on Frank.

"Frank, let's go have a talk in your office. We don't need the boy to get underfoot," Nike suggested.

Frank grinned. "Why don't we bring the girl along too? You're just so attached to them."

A quick jerk of his head, Scars walked in. The space in the room was rapidly turning crowded. Nike bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smashing a fist into his face. Alex, on the other hand, had no such compunction. As he neared, hands reaching to grab at her, Alex stomped on his foot. Scars yelped, staggering backwards. Nike couldn't help giving Alex a thumb's up. The smile on Alex's face was vicious and she basked under Nike's approval before realising who she was receiving it from and clamping down on it.

Frank drew his pistol and pointed it at Tiny's head. A strangled cry erupted from Alex's throat and Nike held her back. Tiny whimpered as he struggled in vain. "Come on now, let's all behave." Frank said calmly, the grin never left his face. "No biotics, Nike. Otherwise I'm blowing the boy's head wide open. I might need you, but I don't need the boy."

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Her palms were sleek with sweat, her mouth bone dry as she tried to figure a way out of this. Nothing came to her, all her ideas involved biotics and all she saw were Ross' and Emma's still bodies as Burger's whines echoed in her head. She was fucking useless.

Alex screamed, yanking her attention back to the present. Scars had caught her, but she sank her teeth into his arm, biting down hard. "Stop it stupid girl!" he yelled, smashing a fist against her head.

Nike snarled, her body reacting before she could hold herself back. She punched, connecting solidly against Scars' nose. She could feel flesh sinking, bone crunching and eventually giving way under her fist. Blood sprayed as he clutched his face, screaming.

A shot rang out. Blood drained from her face as she turned towards Frank. One arm wrapped around Alex, biotics already blazing, ready to go. The pistol was smoking, but thankfully it was aimed at the celling. Tiny was weeping silently, trembling in fear.

"Are you quite done?" he growled. "Do not make me repeat myself again."

Frank jerked his head. A sharp prick at her neck made Nike whirled around. All she saw was an empty syringe in Scars' hand. _Red Sand?_ No, it wasn't the same. For a moment, she felt fine, contemplating retaliation. The next, her knees gave out. Her head slammed onto the floor as vertigo swept over her. Her vision swarm. Alex tugged at her shirt, screaming her name, but everything was far away.

"Night, night," Scars growled. "Bitch."

And darkness claimed her.

 **Lyrics taken from Got It In You by BANNERS**


	27. Show Time

Chapter 27 - Show Time

 **Discussion of potentially raping someone, attempted rape, mass shooting**

Voices growled back and forth over her. They were irritating and noisy.

"Come on, she's out like a light, why can't I take her?" one voice asked, it sounded strangely nasally.

"No, Frank says to watch her. We need her for tonight. I'm not jeopardising everything for your fucking dick." another answered.

"You know you want it too," the first retorted. "We can share."

Nike groaned. Neither seemed to have noticed, too absorbed in their conversation. She peeled an eye open and the light pierced it like a needle. _Where the hell am I?_ The bed was as hard as stone, and it seemed she was stuck with Scars and Tenner. Instincts told her to keep still, gather information and figure which way was up.

"Fuck no, Scars. I'm horny, but I'm not quite that stupid," Tenner growled

"Look we're not getting another chance like this again," Scars pointed out, bumping against whatever she was lying on.

Tenner didn't reply. Nike couldn't tell if he was being won over by Scars' argument or he just didn't deign to reply. She kept her eyes shut, willing her traitorous hands to be still, counting breaths to calm herself. The content of the discussion was unnerving to say the least. Cautiously she tested, pulling slightly at her core. Her biotics leapt to life. _Ok, ok. Not helpless. I can work with that._

The jingling of a belt being undone yanked her back to reality. Fear seized her chest despite knowing she could defend herself. The buzz of a zip being slid open sent a chill down her spine. "Look if you're just too scared, I'll help myself. You can watch."

A hand tugged at her cargo shorts and she flinched away, biotics blazing to life. Her eyes snapped open in time to take in Scars' slack jawed expression. His nose had swell twice its normal size and white tape stretched over it, holding it in place. His eyes bruised in a vague shape of her fist. She regretted not using her biotics to augment her punch.

Her hand flashed out to grab the front of his shirt, tugging him so close she could smell his fear, "Fuck off Scars." And she shoved him away.

Scar's pants fell around his ankles, his underwear wrapped around his thighs. His dick hanging out, half hard but rapidly shrinking as he realised his predicament.

The click of a pistol engaging made her stilled. She turned to face Tenner, the grin that split her face was wild and predatory. With adrenaline rushing through her veins, her hands were steady. The gnawing that encompassed all her waking hours silenced. "Try that Tenner and you won't keep those hands."

Tenner frowned but made no move to fire. Scars struggled to get away from her, falling on his ass in his haste, fouled by his own pants.

"All right," Tenner holstered his pistol. "No guns. We don't need them. We've got the kids."

Nike stiffened, getting off the table she had been sleeping on. "Where are they?"

"Out, errands for Frank," Scars gasped, attempting to look tough as he stuffed his flaccid penis into his boxers.

"Where are they?" She repeated, her biotics flared brighter with every word.

"You do your part, you will see them again," Tenner said, confident in how much she valued Alex's and Tiny's continued well being.

 _He isn't wrong._

Nike's head pounded. Whatever Scars had injected into her with was lingering in her body. She only had that burst of energy and now it was fading. Her hands shook, her biotics spluttered as her guts clenched. It hungered for both food and Red Sand in equal measure. She snarled and put out her biotics, far better to appear strong than to have her weakness out on display.

The doors burst open and Frank entered. Alex was trailing after him, head hung low, her face spotting a bruise the size of Frank's palm. Nike clenched her fists and jaw so tight it ached. Frank took one look at Scars and chuckled. Alex tried to inch away but was quickly halted by an arm darting out snake quick to grip her shoulder. Frank's fingers matched the bruises on there too. Nike remembered bearing those same bruises when she was younger.

Frank levelled his eyes at her, bright and almost maniacal. Her breath quickened. "You have a job to do," he declared. "You're helping me make a grand statement today."

She didn't speak. Frank had all the cards, she had nothing but her shaking hands to fight him.

"Do this for me and you'll have my promise, the kids will be unharmed and no more Red Sand." His smile sharpened.

Nike's eyes darted to meet Alex's. For once the defiance, the fire, the passion in them was banked, the embers still burnt but they had been violently, forcefully doused by reality.

"I'm going to keep Alex here with me. Tiny's being looked after by Cutter. Don't worry about him, Cutter will care for him well."

That was the first bit of good news she heard all day. Still worry and dread were twin snakes that coiled around her throat, threatening to choke her.

"Come on, the people came here to see the Champion fight, let's give them a show," Frank said.

Nike had no choice. She sneaked one more glance at Alex who looked at her with eyes so wide, so scared. All she could only was nod, accepting whatever fate had installed for her.

* * *

Scars and Tenner peeled off earlier, to carry out their part of this plan. Nike's footsteps echoed down the long tunnel leading to the ring. The crowd's roar reaching her ears even from this distance. She wasn't alone though. Alex's lighter but faster footsteps scuffed against the concrete, polished by the feet of fighters past. No doubt propelled along by Frank's grip on her shoulder. More keenly, Nike could feel Frank's laser focused eyes between her shoulder blades. It itched terribly. Her breath was tight in her chest as she panted audibly. Trapped along all sides and no allies to be found, what else could she do but to bow? They stopped at the barrier. It barred her entry into the ring, just like her counterpart on the other side.

"Fancy seeing you here, Frank. You've been up to some things around the Slums I hear," the guard at the barrier sneered. "The Dowager is going to fix you up real good after this."

Frank shrugged but didn't speak. Instead he reached into his pocket and filled the fucking syringe. Alex took the chance to edge away from them, her eyes wide and wild, realising the shit she was in now. Nike's mouth went dry, panic gripped her but yet a part of her was clawing for the contents of the syringe. Alex stared with morbid curiosity. Nike averted her face, ashamed at what she had become.

 _Another fucking Red Sand fiend._

A quick prick and Red Sand was coursing through her veins, burning a path up her neck into her head. The endless hunger finally sated, her hands steadied. She lifted her head, feeling more alive than before. The headache that was chipping away in her head gone. Colours leapt up, brighter and more vibrant. She saw everything with utter clarity. Frank's hand gripped her shoulder, his touch burnt but she didn't dare pull away. His fingers dug into her skin. "Win, Nike. Win for me my golden goose."

She nodded. As he pulled away, Alex snaked her hand into hers. She looked down, surprised. Alex didn't speak. There was just one small squeeze of her palm, and it was gone when Frank yanked her away. Nike stared at Alex confused with the gesture, but the moment had passed.

"Show time, Nike," the guard said. The barrier fell, allowing her into the ring.

* * *

Nike looked up at the Dowager and waited for the customary bow. The window remained stubbornly opaque. Her opponent glanced at her, she shrugged. This was highly unusual but the crowd wouldn't be denied any longer.

"Nike of the Reds has reclaimed her throne as Champion," the announcer shouted. "Will she keep it, will she lose it to Hayate of the Guardians, a rising star of the Ring. Will there be a new champion tonight?"

The crowd's roar threatened to bring the Underbelly down to its knees. Nike closed her eyes and savoured it. It sang to her in a way no other rush could. One way or another, she wasn't coming back again. Frank was out of control and she couldn't stay in the Reds any longer. She needed out.

The music blared from the speakers as the crowd took up the song.

 _It's our time to make a move_

The barrier between the fighters dropped, Nike launched herself forward.

 _It's our time to make amends_

She was on fire, biotics coming faster and stronger.

 _It's our time to break the rules_

Alex and Tiny were the only thing in her mind as she unleashed her biotics.

 _Let's begin_

* * *

"Stay down," she barked.

"Never," Hayate growled through gritted teeth.

Nike kicked, it caught his chin, snapping his head up and his arm gave way. His head slammed down again on the floor. Blood gushed from his nose.

"Give up."

His hands twitched, trying to brace himself off the floor again. "No!"

This was not right, he was finished, to continue was just bullying. It felt wrong, it was wrong. She glanced at the crowd. "Finish him! Finish him!" they chanted.

She gritted her teeth against the distasteful task. Her palm burst out in blue flames and she brought it down on his face.

And that was when it all went sideways.

She didn't hear the gunfire over the cheers of the crowd at first. Nike was busy cataloging her wounds. Knuckles torn and bruised, throbbing at the abuse; ribs ached from being battered and hammered by biotic-fuelled hits. Only her amp was a source of comfort, a steady warmth at her neck. _No danger of glitching today._ But she was already feeling the comedown from the Red Sand high. Though her biotics was still sparking and leaping to her every call, eager for more blood, for more action, she was also moving more sluggishly. The monster in the pit of her guts had opened its wide mouth, hungering for more Red Sand.

Gunfire, louder and more insistent this time . Shrieks of terror rang as the crowd caught onto what was happening. They stampeded.

Nike was trapped in the ring, the barrier wasn't deactivated. She whirled around and saw people marked in Reds' colour, fully armed and armoured firing at the Dowager's guards. The crowd was caught in between.

"Shit, shit, shit," she cried, pulling up a barrier as bullets raked across the air, ricocheting everywhere. The barrier wasn't rated to hold against bullets of any kind.

Rushing to the barrier, she slammed her fists against it, there was a momentary flare of bright orange, rippling out. It didn't budge.

"No, no, no!"

Gathering her biotics, she charged against one of the pylons that maintained the barrier. The pylon groaned, but it held.

Slugs were whizzing through the space, all of them zipping by too close for comfort. She took a deep breath and charged again and again and again. The pylon groaned louder with each impact and eventually it bent. The connection was broken and the barrier of that single panel flickered and died with a low hum.

 _Alex, Tiny!_

Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she tried to get her bearings. The rapid high whine of a rifle reminded her to take cover, she was practically naked against these fuckers.

Blood were splattered against concrete walls, smeared across the floor where people dragged themselves to safety. Bodies littered the ground, many were trampled beyond recognition. Her gouge rose and her guts churned uncomfortably. Lips twisting, she searched body after body for some kind of weapon. There was nothing. Most of them were just the downtrodden in the Slums, spending what little credits they had on a bet, hoping to win big.

 _Well, they won something today._

Step by step, from cover to cover, she hid and snuck along, trying to make her way back to the prep room. She had left her pistol and blade there. Gunfire rang out in the corridor as she pressed herself against wall. The door was just fucking around the corner. She held her breath. Maybe she could just inched closer towards the edge and peek out.

"There! That's Nike! She's one of them!"

"Fuck." She pulled back when she saw a rifle lifted in her direction.

Bullets slammed into the concrete throwing up shards everywhere. She hissed as they stabbed her. She hesitated despite herself, eyes lingered on the door to the prep room. Heavy thumps of armoured troops approached. She had to move or die. With a growl of frustration, she turned and ran. Thighs burning at the abuse it was taking, her breath harsh against her ears, she fled.

* * *

It was weird to see the Underbelly devoid of people. The stalls stood empty, sizzling food left to burn. Machines where games of chance were played, usually filled with cigarette smoke and loud music, now stood impossibly deserted. Desperate people, hoping the next pull, the next button press would turn their life around, slumped over the machines as if protecting them. The music cheerful and enticing, a stark difference to the reality surrounding them. Plays of greens and blues splashed over the blood, darkening it, turning them into something harmless. A mere stain.

Nike ran and ran. Her barrier, her only protection, fizzled and died. She didn't have the energy to maintain it. The telltale glow of blue was giving her position away. Something slammed into her left shoulder and she stumbled and fell. Tumbling, she smashing her face into the floor, scratching it up. Pain wasn't something she could give in to. Forcing herself back onto her feet, she ran on. Her shirt grew wet and heavy as something trickled down her back. On and on, she ran, legs leading her without conscious thought.

Only when her lungs burnt with desperate gasps did she slid up against cover, and she took stock of her situation. Grimacing, she pressed a palm against her shoulder and bit her lips to hold back a scream. Her hand came away red. She had never been shot before, not like this. She had suffered her share of bullet grazes but this time she could feel the bullet embedded against her flesh and bone. Most of the time, people shied away from her when they realised who they were up against. But Frank had turned everyone against them. As she blinked away tears, a flash of Reds' colours zipped by. She followed.

It was Krycek, looking worse for wear. He had armour, but it didn't seemed to have done him any good. It was shattered in parts. His hands shook the way hers did.

"Where the fuck is everyone else? Where are Alex and Tiny?" she hissed.

A vicious smile split his mouth. "With Frank," he replied, fumbling for something in his pocket. A syringe filled with Red Sand emerged and she recoiled. "Don't worry, I'm not sharing."

He bit into the cap securing the sharp end of the syringe and yanked. The cap came free between his teeth and he spat. It clattered onto the floor, discarded and useless. She couldn't help but watch as he injected himself. Her body jerked in respond at Krycek's groan of pure pleasure. It wasn't horror or fear, it was yearning and want. She wanted to snatch the syringe out of his hand, she wanted that shot for herself, but she clenched her fists and forced herself to keep still.

 _I'm better than this. I have to be._

He keened, shuddering as his body accepted the drug. Blue erupted from his skin, flaring and sparking like an aura around him. Nike could feel it against her skin. She averted her eyes, opting to keep an eye out for the Dowager's people and racking her head how she was going to find Alex and Tiny in this fucking mess instead.

Before she could register it, there was a scruff of shoe against concrete, and pain exploded across her shoulder. She screamed as Krycek hastily covered her mouth with his hand. "Now, now, no screaming. We don't want others to find us, do we."

White blotted out her vision. His palm pressing, probing and digging into her gunshot wound. Each attempt to shift, to ease the pressure, just made him leaned into it that much more. His cheek pressed up against hers and he hissed, "That's for our unfinished fight the other day."

Tears streamed down her eyes as her knees buckled, agony overwriting all thought as she screamed into his hand. Her lungs heaved as he eventually relented, hauling her sagging body up to her feet. "Come on, let's go. Frank's looking for you."

* * *

Blood streamed from the wound and it was all Nike could do was to press a hand against it without passing out. Hopefully, Frank needed her enough to not let her bleed out. Lightheaded with legs that refused to work like they used to, she stumbled along, nudged by Krycek's pistol towards the Dowager's throne room. A bunch of Reds were guarding the elevator. Nobody seemed surprised to see her in this shape, ushered along like a prisoner. _So much for being the golden goose, the Champion._ Her thoughts were so bitter, her stomach roiled.

They boarded the elevator without a word. As it rose, Nike's guts churned with anxiety. The doors opened to reveal Frank's inner circle, one she now knew she never belonged to. They were milling around outside the secure doors. The holo-lock was stubbornly red, she observed with no small amount of pleasure despite the circumstances. Tenner was hard at work hacking them, his fingers tapping furiously at his omni-tool.

Her bare feet sank into the plush white carpet. Every other time she was up here, she loved the way she sank a little into the carpet but not today. It squelched with every step she took. She left footprints of red. Blood and dirt, that was what she was reduced to. No more valuable than the mud she rose up from. And apparently, she hadn't risen far enough. She grimaced at the tacky feeling of semi-dry blood on her skin.

Frank was pacing back and forth, a tiger with coiled energy ready to lash out. He glared at her arrival.

"What took you so long?" he snarled at Krycek.

"There was resistance."

"Nike!" Tiny cried.

Nike whirled around, they were hidden behind Cutter's bulk. As she made to go towards them, Frank closed the gap between them in a flash. She twisted to avoid his arm but slowed by pain and blood loss, he shoved her into the corner, right into a pile of dead. Broken bodies and gaping holes in mangled remains marred the pristine furnishing. She fell heavily against the shattered pieces of armour the fallen wore, a pained yelp rushed from her clenched jaw.

"Leave her alone!" Alex shouted, fighting against Scars' hold as Tiny's scared whimpers rang out. It galled her to be so helpless, to be so useless in protecting them, but she remained on the ground, taking the chance to catch her breath. Blinking hard, she chased the grey edges of her vision away.

"You have one more job to do," Frank's breath beat down on her bowed head.

"You fucking promised!" Nike fought to sit up.

"I did, didn't I? I lied. Just one more, then you're done," he replied easily.

There was a familiar snick of a blade flicking out. He was holding a blade — hers.

As he slid the blade into position, there was an audible click as the blade locked into its deployed position. Fingers gripping the mechanism, he flicked his wrist. The shape edge swung back into the frame. Another flick, another click. Open and close. Flick, click. It was as clear a threat she had ever seen one. She gulped, mastering herself.

"You're going to do it aren't you?" Frank asked, his voice sickeningly sweet.

Her eyes darted between Alex and Tiny, then back at him. "Let them go first. They are just going to get underfoot."

"No."

One moment, the blade was held lazily in Frank's hand, the next it was pressed against her left cheek. The cold metal burnt. Nike held herself still. "Let them go," she repeated, hard eyes meeting Frank's.

"No."

The blade bit into her skin. A sharp inhale was all she allowed to escape her lips. Nothing more. Blood welled up as a line was dug deep into her face, slicing and piercing. She winced. A trickle flowed down her face like a tear.

"Just do what he wants!" Alex shouted, her voice cracking, fear overwhelming her. "Please!"

"Listen to the girl, Nike," Frank purred, the blade twisted its way down her check towards her jaw.

"Please," Tiny added his voice to Alex's.

For a long moment everything was at an impasse, but the tension went out of her body. She was too exhausted to keep resisting. "Fine," the word exhaled like she was giving up. Her body went slack as she slumped against dead bodies.

"You'll get a fine scar from that. You'll look so badass," Frank whispered as he eased off. "Just a tiny little payback for that insult so long ago."

"Why the fuck do we need her for?" Krycek demanded, helping himself to a fresh bunch of Red Sand filled syringes.

She grunted and shakily rose to her feet, bracing against the wall. Compared to her shoulder, the long gash down her face, was nothing. She could barely move it without her vision dimming.

"She owe me," Frank replied. "Payback for our first meeting."

Cutter, Scars and Tenner averted their eyes. Krycek just looked confused while Nike went cold. The consequences of a scared little girl lashing out at her attackers had came back to haunt her. Jaw set, she marshalled her strength for what was to come. Frank was lying. Neither she nor the kids would be allow to walk out of Underbelly alive. She could feel it in her bones, but she'd be damned if she was going to lay down and die.

"You should get ready," he warned. "I'm sure Tenner is about to be done any moment." That line he delivered sarcastically as he turned his attention to a sweating Tenner. The blade pocketed, he picked his special shotgun up to nudge Tenner. "Right, Tenner?" he prompted.

"Sure thing boss. Plan coming to fruition and all that."

Alex and Tiny hurried over, crying and trying to be strong in turns. It was only with Alex's quick thinking Tiny didn't bowl her over with his weight. Nike didn't think she'd get up again if he did. Cutter clomped over, his eyes taking stock of her injuries. "Nothing personal Nike," he muttered. "Just business." He shoved her clothes and pistol into her hands. "Best get ready."

Fuck was she going to go into battle barefoot and clad in nothing but her fight attire. "Help me," she growled, pulling on clothes and shoes, trying not to blackout in the attempt.

Gunfire rang out somewhere below them. Alex and Tiny flinched. "Behind me," she hissed.

"Got it!" Tenner crowed in triumphant as the heavy doors slid noiselessly open.

Gunfire erupted from beyond the freshly unlocked doors. Everyone was prepared for heavy resistance. This was after all the Dowager's last line of defence. But what nobody expected was reinforcements from the rear. The elevator chimed loudly as the doors slid opened. More of the Dowager's crew poured out. Pinned, that was what she was, between two sides, three if she wanted to count the Reds as her enemy. _I guess they are now._ Her jaw tight as she erected a barrier, backing Alex and Tiny behind her.

The Dowager's mocking laughter rose over the din. "Come to take my throne, Frank? You're overreaching, boy."

 **Lyrics taken from Renegades by X Ambassadors**


End file.
